[This is dream I had]
(How would I begin?.. ok I'm currently overseas delployed with the most negative people I have ever met. This trip makes me look like a bonafide optimist. The "fun" has worn out but even still I have somethings to make me smile even if its only on the inside. I had this dream a little before the publishing and even though it is just a dream I gotta admit it made me smile but at the same time it made me realize that I still have some time left. Either way you look at the glass it was still nice, like parole from here.
Greek mythology tells the tale of a guy stuck in hell with a burning thirst. He is chained in a pool of clear water and everytime he lowers his head to drink the water level drops to just out of reach. Well in another myth involving this poor guy, the daughter of the woman who runs earth gets tricked into going down to hell. While there she screws innocently with all the punishments and in the case of our chained friend she gives him a drink. It was told that she made the thirst worse for the guy despite her act of mercy.
That's what the dream was like…so here it is, I hope you enjoy, I did.)
I was standing in front of my house on the sidewalk by the drive. The world appeard as a ghost would see it. Everything appeared in misty shades of grey and black. Almost not real, almost a mirage or a silvery illusion. I could not feel the breeze or the suns warmth.
There I was unable to feel but feeling the warmth in my heart as I gazed upon my home I had been so long from. I stood there drinking in my cactus with yellow ribbons on its tines. It still stood proudly in its circle of rocks next to a Chinese Elm that my father had tried with no success to kill.
I began moving up the drive to the house, gliding, not feeling the effort of walking. Moving as a spectre would. Walking like a memory returning to being, from the sad memory to the reality of existance. What a house, modest but containing so much. I had lived there with my family for years. This was the house my son called home after his birth. How many times had I come home here? Returing from prior deployments to this very house.
I pushed open the gate and listened to the gate open on squeaky hinges. I continued on up the side walk to the front door. I stood staring at it breathing in the beautiful relief of finally making it home. I reached out with my right hand to open the door. My hand was moving in slow motion to the open the house. I became aware of the back pack slung over my left shoulder and I shrugged slightly to adjust the load.
The door opend at the slightest touch, allowing me entry. I walked throught the foyer and through the open door to the house.I stopped in the entry way and looked around in the haze of grey and silver. I couldn't see anyone to greet me. No parents or sister to welcome me home. The empty house did nothing to darken the light in the center of my being, instead I bent slightly at the knees and swung my bag off my shoulder and onto the cool tiles at my feet.
I turned left and walked in to the kitchen, there on the counter were my pistols lying there neatly as if on display in a shop. I picked one up and felt the cool metal in my hand and my arm felt complete again. As I looked the gun over I noticed a gallon of milk sitting next to the firearms. I put the pistol down and reached out to touch the milk. I could feel the pebble texture of the container and felt the moisture of the condensation. I watched fascinated by the two drops of water racing down the side of the container. Two droplets locked in a race with each other powered by gravity.
I then remembered my room. I turned on my heels and began walking to the hallway. At the end of the corridor I could see my door, ajar with beckoning light spilling from its opening. As I glided down the hall I reached out with my right arm to touch the wall as I passed. Drinking in the rough texture of the paint.
Finally I stood in the doorway of the room I spent countless hours in avoiding humanity, my place of solice where only my family or closest friends would visit. Where my possesions resided. Where I could be by myself. Finally home…
I pushed open the door and gazed upon my fortress of solitude. All how I rememebered.
But there in my bed was something that stopped my thoughts and ghostly memories cold. Lying there underneath the covers in silent slumber was my beloved son.
I stood there in my doorway unmoving, unable to look away at my sons sleeping self. Eyes riveted as if looking at a work of art so beautiful it would be a mortal sin to blink.
For the first time since entering my house as a phantom I felt like I had returned home. Standing there watching my son sleep. I began hoping he would wake up so I could hug him and talk to him but at the same time hoping that this memory would never end.
Finally home…finally accomplishing…finally not lonely…
Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. I took my eyes off my child and looked behind me down the hallway. The hallway once filled with a silvery light was now dark, black as night. I looked back to my room and my son and both had been replaced by the blackness.…
I now realized I was awake and the noise was my MP3 player scolding me awake. The blackeness lightened and I saw the bunk over me. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my bed and put my feet on the floor feeling the disapointment and the loneliness of the darkness.Then I stood up and started the duty day…
-B
(I can't wait, God willing I will make it home to my precious son. All this time and the pain of losing a year will be gone when I can look at him and take him in my arms again. When my son is no longer a dream I will feel more whole than I am now…)
