Saturday, February 7, 2015

Love At The End

Forgive me, longtime readers (all five of you), as this week I recycle a post from yesteryear's dismissed blog in favor of simply having nothing this week. I've taken a few days off from the day job to focus on finishing up the first draft of a novella, which will be a part of the anthology novel that I hope to release late 2016/early 2017. This first draft is close enough to completion that I think it warrants my undivided attention for the next week or so. But enough of that. Kick back, grab a drink and enjoy yourself as I regale you once more with a story straight from a dream. I myself will let the brain rest after tonight's writing stint and kick back with a glass of Jack, watch Heavy Traffic and cap off the night with The Walking Dead (the click and point game, not the TV show, which can get fucked after killing off Emily Kinney). 

I love you...

Sometimes I hate my dreams.

Not the ones  that everyone encourages me to follow, like go to college and get a job that makes more than 12k a year. Not the ones that “those who care” hear and react as though I want to try shooting heroine into my urethra, like try to get a novel published and make a living as a writer. I'm talking about the ones that happen after I close my eyes and hope I wake up on time to catch the bus for work.

I've had some fairly traumatizing dreams. I've been drugged with a parasite whose effects mimic opiates and acid, but the side effects include minor to severe decomposition. I've wandered underground tombs where my friends lose their minds and light each other on fire and speak with mold and moss doppelgangers. I lived in a world where sprout cock (a disease where spores appeared all over your body and produce a porn worthy penises) exists. At a party, the things that nightmares are made of wander the room and when I close my eyes, I can still see them clear as day. And these are just the ones I tell people about.

There is one dream, however, that nearly made me cry upon waking. Not because of its surreal ugliness, but because it was just... amazing.

The end of the world was happening. An asteroid was heading right for us and no one was making it out alive. Everything was a sad shade of blue, like a higher power wanted us to see the end in the right tone. I was alone, sitting on my bed and trying to call my parents, just to say goodbye. But the phones were out in south Texas and I couldn't reach them. I took a breath, kept it together and reminded myself that they and my youngest brother knew that I loved them. They didn't need a final phone call. They knew. Right?

I tried to rest easy. I had spoken to the one man who was going to live, a man who had the means to travel to another planet with life, and he promised me that all of our art and history would be remembered. This gave me a sense of comfort, as though an angel appeared as said I would pass through the gates of Heaven when this was all over. It was also pretty damn random and unrealistic, but this is a dream and such things are to be expected.

Out of ideas, I thought about trying to find something with high percentage of alcohol to drink. But not before I sent out a text message to her: the one girl that I wished I had just given the whole truth. It was simple, direct, cheesy and clear. After that, I tossed my phone aside and nearly stopped breathing as the door to my bedroom opened. My brother and sister stepped inside. I honestly hadn't expected to see them and I think the look on my face was more akin to irritation than joy.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.
“We thought we should be together for the end of the world.”

Dream me, kind of an idiot, figured they'd want to go out holding their significant others and thinking of the future they wished they could have.

“But what about [your boyfriend] and [your girlfriend]?”

They told me that they had said their goodbyes and now it was time for us to be together. I smiled. What else could I do? Dying alone was taken off the table and the only two people in this city I can't live without were with me. And so, with the end just moments away, we stepped outside and waited, holding each other, three frightened siblings, hoping the end was quick.

I started to say a prayer, or rather recite a poem. I had heard it in the film, The Grey, and it never left me.

“Once more into the fray. Into the last good fight I'll ever know. Live and die on this day... Live and die on this day...”

The asteroid broke into the atmosphere and we could hear it from its entrance point miles and miles away. This was it. Life was coming to an end. I took a breath and I had a thought. I really, really hoped that when I died that there was nothing. No Heaven. No Hell. Just peace. It was the last self revelation I would ever have, and the final signature on my divorce papers with Roman Catholicism.

The sound was heard all around the world, and with it the knowledge that countless lives had just been Alderaaned. But for us, that was it. A cold front washed over us and a silence followed, so heavy that even nature respected it. Then, nothing. We waited and waited, but all we accomplished was standing in the cold. Back inside, we sat down, confused and unsure of what was going on. They told us we were going to die, and yet here we were. Was it just going to take a while before it killed us? Did someone seriously fuck up their calculations? Despite our varied interests, not one of us knew the science of such a disaster. Hell, our knowledge on anything with science went as far as high school and college. So what could we do but keep waiting, together as a family?


And be too much of a chicken shit to see if I got a text back.

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