I’m cashing in my proverbial v-card for the Indie Ink challenge. If you want to join the fun, you can read all about it here.. Also, be sure to follow them on twitter @indieink. I was given a challenge by Jo Bryant, who blogs here. And I gave a challenge to Jamelah, who blogs here. Happy reading!
This was my challenge:
Every night when you sleep, he comes to you. He calls you to follow; you do, to a train station where the dead are waiting to board. He holds out his hand, you take it and board the train, going to…
And then I always wake up. Usually in a cold sweat, or sometimes in a disoriented haze. But I always wake up.
It seems significant. I listen for a man’s voice, and I follow it, which leads to dead people getting onto a train, and then I wake up right before I figure out where I’ll end up when all is said and done. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the pictures so vividly. Recurring dreams are like that, so they say. You go about your day as if your coffee didn’t taste different, or your walk to work didn’t seem longer, and then all of a sudden something will happen that triggers the memory and it all floods over you. And if you’re like me, you can’t focus on anything else until you figure it out.
But I never do.
I’ve tried piecing it together. I even saw a dream specialist, whatever that even means. Is that an actual trade? Or does she laugh wildly as she spends my $95 on cheap wine and red meat? But I digress. She told me that the fact that I listen to a man’s voice means that I’m submissive to men in my life. Wrong. I try to feign amazement. She also thought that the train station represented my previous life, which took place in the 1920s, and I rode a lot of trains. Wrong again. Previous life? Is she for real? And the fact that I wake up before I get on the train means that I don’t know where I’m going after I die.
After I die.
I don’t question where I’ll go, that’s why this is so strange. Maybe I’m just eating too late in the day, and it is giving me some weird visions. I know where that train is going so why is it that my body keeps waking up before I see it? I want to know what it looks like, I want to figure out how it smells and lock into my mind the way the wind wisps while I stand at the front of it, whatever it is. I feel like if I could just taste a small piece of it, just have one concrete moment to hold onto, that maybe I would live my life in a way that didn’t question where I was going after I die.
Live my life in a way that didn’t question where I was going after I die.
I don’t live in a way that appears confident of that. Most days, I am a shell of a person who is confident of that. I think that’s why I always wake up – because I know somewhere deep in my heart that I don’t deserve a glimpse, not just yet. Each time I wake up, I have bittersweet jolts of motivation to live today, at least today, like I know where I’m going.
And then by noon, the world has crept in and nothing makes sense anymore, and the only thing in focus is this task, this bill, this annoying person on the other end of the phone who just Won’t. Shut. Up.
And I’ve ruined my second-trillionth chance to make today worth it.
The waking up is strangely my favorite part. Even though my tally is way up there, it’s another chance every time. So I’ll take the recurring dreams, as long as I get the recurring wake-ups.
Because it feels like redemption over and over again.