Just a Dream

I keep saying to myself that I'm going to write a bit more on this site, but I've lied before. This isn't what this post's going to be about anyways. Then again, I do bitch about my lack of consistency in almost every post. Whatever, I've got 99 problems and a post ain't one. I figured I would write about something that's been bothering me a lot lately. A dream. A dream is defined as a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep. A place that you drift off to were everything you imagine comes to life. A place where you can finally be a star, a hero, popular, important, even loved. Dreams lead us into deep, astonishing worlds full of exorbitant wonder, only to sadly wake during the climatic end. Everyone wishing to fall back into that world, only to find that the mind has thrown them into a nightmarish horror. That's the way it happens for most. Yet, few know how to control what they see. Being in a world of your own full of infinite possibilities. It's a playground of a God. Sadly, I have no control. Every dream I have seems to careen into such ridiculous madness I try never to read into any one, but this dream is different. This dream its the same scene over and over again, but with different questions and conversations. I've had the dream around four times now. It starts with me walking into what seems to be a police interrogation room. The room is dark and dank and has a great emptiness to it. In the middle sits a rigid metal chair at a desk. The chair is slanted away and seems to invite you to sit on its uncomfortably flat seat. There's only a soft glow which envelops the desk and chair. The glow seams to be crushed by the empty, black void around it. Yet, every time I look at this scene I manage a smirk and a laugh. The only thing I can mutter during this sequence is “How cliché”. I inevitably end up in the chair and I wait for no reason it seems, until a voice creeps out of the darkness. A voice that sounds so familiar yet so distant, there's confidence in the voice. He says “Hello Mr. Jensen”. I make no effort to reply. I just sit in that chair and wait for the disembodied voice to fall out of the dark again. Everything up to this point in the dream is exactly the same, but not for long. The voice always goes on to ask a question about something in my life or something that I'm feeling. Yet they never made sense. He knows my inner thoughts, my emotions. Then again, why wouldn't he. The first time he asked me quite simply, “Why are you here?”. I didn't answer, or maybe I didn't know how. He answered for me with “because you're scared, Mr. Jensen. You're scared of something in your life and as of right now this is how your coping. With a dream.”. The more I think about it the less I understand this first dream. I have no idea what I'm “scared” of other than my actual fears. Maybe he meant those. I'm not sure. The second time he didn't ask me anything. I sat in that torturous chair what felt like hours. I waited and waited until I said “Hello?” That's when the voice drifted towards me and said “Welcome back Mr. Jensen. I just want to let you know that you're going to be OK. You shouldn't worry. You won't age well with that anxiety” I woke up from this drenched in sweat and shivering. The tone of the voice was far from comforting. It sounded more like a threat like he was the cause of those feelings. The third time I honestly can't remember much. It was the same place, situation, voice, all those good things but I don't remember the conversation. The only thing that I remember is that the dream put me at ease. It gave me a sense of peace. Happiness maybe? No, contentment. One hell of a dream. The last dream is the most vivid. I remember walking into the room sitting down and saying, “what now?” The voice responded with “Welcome back Mr. Jensen. Who do you love? I know you love your family and friends but is their anyone else? Someone you're head over heels for? I bet there is, but you don't want to do anything about it.” At this point I guess my mind was tired of this disembodied voices cryptic messages. I just stood up and said I didn't care. That's when the voice moved closer. It seemed to slip out of the gloom, and that's when the voice attached itself to a body. The man was wearing a black suit, black shirt, and a bright red tie. We made eye contact and he said “I know why. I already answered your question. You're scared, Mr. Jensen” I just stood there and stared into pale blue eyes. The man smiled a gap toothed smile and said “So, Mr. Jensen. What are we going to do about this?”