Saturday, June 22, 2013

Guest Post: The Dream

        I wanted to write a little intro to this story and explain why it is the way it is—but first, and intro to the intro: When Rachelle asked me to write as a guest blogger for her blog, I had absolutely no idea what to write about—trust me, my life is not as interesting as Rachelle’s, nor am I as charismatic as she is, but at some point she suggested that I could write a short story, something that I have done before and that I enjoy doing. So short story it was…Now, short stories are always weird, but I think this one is a little more bizarre, and that’s because it is based off a recurring dream I had a few years ago. The bizarreness is not so much the content in it, but the form itself. There are a lot of shifts and abrupt transitions like real dreams. The idea of writing a story based on a dream is not that original—I think Stephanie Meyers said she based her books off a dream she had, and G-d forbid this is anything like Twilight—but the reason I chose to write a story like this is based on the idea that some of our dreams really tell a story of our lives, of what we’ve been through, or what we are currently going through at the time. Now I say SOME dreams, the dream you had dream of playing tennis with a giraffe in someone else’s body could just be random brain scrambling, but I’m talking about those peculiar dreams, the recurring ones, the ones that you still remember—the fear, the love, and the sorrow you felt in those dreams are as real as the memories you have of reality; those are the dreams I am talking about. These dreams are our stories, making us all storytellers in one way or another, and like all stories, whether or not it was the author’s intent, they mean something; they speak on the human condition that we all share. I believe others have had this dream, have written this story, but only with a different pen. So, by writing this, it is not my main intent to try and write an entertaining story, but instead to put a small part of my humanity on paper in its rawest form: the dream.



Jason Mitchell

         I approached the bleak house on heavy footsteps, fighting the wind that rushed over me like a strong current, pulling me backward, hindering my progress forward. What little light that was left outside was fading fast, and an overwhelming desire to get inside the house rushed over me, starting from down in my toes, working its way up to my chest, piercing it like a knife, but no matter what I tried, I could not break the wind. I cried out in frustration, in rage—and suddenly, I was inside. It was pitch black, and I could see nothing, but I knew…

         I moved forward—I had to keep moving forward—and something ice cold and bone dry brushed against my bare hand as I groped in the darkness. I recoiled in fear, knowing to well what it was—almost knowing what it was before I even felt its icy touch.

         A window appeared on my right, and a ray of moonlight flooded the room, revealing the corpses hanging from the ceiling. Their naked, gray bodies swayed back and forth from the ropes that suspended them in the air.

         I moved forward—I had to keep moving forward—cutting through them with a long knife that had appeared in my hand. I mowed down anything in my path, hacking away like some gallant hero dispelling monsters.

         I grew bolder as I moved toward my indented destination—wherever that was, the secret locked deep in the recesses of my mind –suddenly, to my extreme terror, one of the corpses scream loudly as my knife spilt flesh.

         No! I thought. I looked back over my shoulder and the entire area around me changed. Instead of finding gray corpses in my wake, I found a host of human bodies, alive, bloody and strewn apart from my actions.

        The blood in my veins froze, and I almost fell to my knees, dropping the knife to the ground. I mumbled something under my breath, trying to find words, but I could scarcely be heard amid the sobs and moans from the others in the room. None of them appeared to notice me in the room with them, but I could hear their words—“YOU!” they all cried in ensemble, “SHAME!” Their voices grew louder, infiltrating my head until I thought it would burst. I put my hands over my ears, and shut my eyes.

No more! No more!”

         A light switch turned on somewhere in the room. Why hadn’t I thought of that earlier? The words formed in my mind as the surge of fear I felt only moments ago escaped from my body. I looked around the room and found a room full of coat hangers. I laughed out loud, and moved on—I had to keep moving forward.

         The next room I entered plunged me back into darkness, but I hardly noticed, for standing alone in the room, with a pale stream of moonlight splashing across her face, was a woman I had seen before, I woman I knew. My first instinct was to leave immediately, to flee, but her smile drew me in.

         “I have to go,” I said, as I moved toward her. “I can’t stay. There is somewhere I need to be.” At these words she frowned, and my heart sank, and for the first time since getting to the house, I stopped. My desire to please her broke my indomitable will, and she came toward me and enveloped me with a kiss.

         A sound on my left caught my attention, and I turned my head toward the open window outside. Through the curtains blowing in the light wind, I made out a small, gnarled figure doubled over in laughter. He was so close I could almost touch him, and he seemed to grow bigger and bigger with each moment that passed…

Then I awoke. 

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