Dream #60

I remained huddled in the backseat of my father's car, refusing to gaze at the beautiful mountains sweeping by in a blur of gray and white. Snow and ice slapped the windows and despite the tendrils of heat that wrapped around me, my heart and body was chilled. My fresh memories of the Texas sultry summer had all but vanished. I tried to make sense of the impossible circumstances, ignoring the pain of becoming a victim of my father's insanity. I wracked my brain for a solution--for a hero. But the grim circumstances could not be argued. No one would be coming to my rescue. My father was far to powerful and few people had ever stood up to him. My weak minded friends had fruitless lives of repetition. But not me. My father hated my strength of spirit. Ironically, I thought I was too old and too wise to be overcome by my father's hysteria. But the handcuff that clasped my wrist to the armrest was a grim reminder that I wasn't caught up in another one of my dreams--my nightmares. This was real. The inevitable had happened. My father would finally silence me by throwing me into a concentration camp in Alaska.

As we pulled through the main gates, I surveyed a bleak, cheerless place of cold stone and colorless buildings. A woman with short red hair slapped a riding crop against her leg as she approached the car. Somehow I thought that a joke had been played on me. There were no concentration camps in America, and a person certainly didn't get thrown into one because they were disliked. However, apparently the camps did exist and it wasn't difficult to stash someone there and forget all about them. My father unlatched the handcuff and I stepped into the frigid wind. Then, he was away like a flash without looking back. No words were spoken as the woman jammed a needle into my hip, injecting a clear solution before ushering me into a plain dormitory and left me there. I looked around in disbelief. A man stared at me with a blank expression

“No way,” I said.

“The lock downs are co-ed,” he replied.

“Lock downs?”

“Dorms or whatever euphemism you can come up with.” He pointed to the bed beneath the only window. “That is mine.”

I scanned the room, finding an unused bed in the corner. “Aren’t they concerned that a girl might get pregnant?”

“No. You got the shot, right?”

"Oh, that's what that was. Aren’t they afraid that a girl might get raped?”

“You'll learn soon enough that after boot camp, no one has the energy for that."

I refrained from asking more questions as his face grew sour and unsociable. It suddenly occurred to me that he was Native American. Several other people in the room lay motionless on their beds as if they were dead--as if the soul had been sucked out of them. A whistle blew only moments before the room darkened. I supposed it was bedtime. So much for dinner.

In the morning the mixture of rain and snow dampened and chilled the air. We formed a line outside as the miserable wind taunted us. The redhead still had the riding crop which she slapped continuously against her thigh as she counted heads. I risked a short glance at the people around me, wondering if they all had been committed for equally frivolous acts. Some looked hardened and tough--weathered by the circumstances. Others appeared inconceivably lifeless and defeated. But I knew I would not be among the fallen. Few people realized the emotion and passion that burned deep within me--few people had truly ever noticed my zest for life.

I snapped to attention when I realized the woman had grown quiet. She stood before me with the most malicious expression I had ever seen.

"Repeat what I just said," she hissed.

Of course, I had no idea. I had been too busy thinking.

"I'm going to make an example out of you," she laughed.

Well, she didn't know me. I could endure anything. She pointed to a large entryway that led to an obstacle course. A wall of tires two stories tall seemed to be the first obstacle. After that, pits of broken glass and steel spikes emerged at every turn. My stoic expression made her frown.

She snapped, "You'll go with her."

I turned to see who I had just condemned and it was the Native American man. He slipped his hand into his pocket and removed a bandana. He quickly tied back his long, black hair.

The woman looked at me again. "The course is called Hell's Gate."

Restraining a sigh, I walked to the wall of tires shining beneath a thin coat of ice.

"Don't look down and you'll do fine," the man said.

At the sound of the whistle, I leaped into the tires, clawing my way upward. From the top, a barren terrain unfolded that seemed to absorb the unalterable sadness of the weaker individuals. Miles of red earth stretched on, devoid of trees as if they had just been scraped away. My gray flannel shirt flapped in the breeze as I started down the other side.

Later, I stared at the ceiling of the dormitory, still damp from my cold shower. The hard cot offered no comfort. My unusually silent roommate stared out the window. He did not like me. That I was sure. He was probably just as bitter as the others, but for some reason I liked him. Maybe he would never forgive me for putting him on that obstacle course by my actions. Did it matter that we had both survived?

“You might be strong enough,” he said.

“Strong enough for what?”

He said nothing for a long while as the world beyond the window grew dark. "Don't let her see your strength. You need to look like them."

He indicated the others already asleep on their beds. The others who took no notice of us.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Texas."

He seemed surprised for a moment. “That is where I am from.”

He came to the bed and stood there. Finally, I rolled to my feet and stood, wondering what the heck he wanted.

“My name is Pachi,” he said. “In this place where there are no names, I want you to know mine.”

Old Dream 8-15-01

The end of the war had not brought peace but utter desolation. The earth had nearly been destroyed by the ships that appeared in the atmosphere and now reflected a desert terrain of dry rock and dust. The sun-baked ground had eroded against the constant assault of wind leaving only a sparse cropping of scrubby bushes. We humans were slaves to the aliens--to the dinosaur-like creatures that had conquered us as if we were merely small toys on a game board. There were large creatures and smalls ones of all shapes and colors. They had been here before, but only a few escaped the ice age. To say the least, they were a bit perturbed at how we displayed their dead in museums. Within the dinosaur race, they had their own hierarchy. Those walking on two legs held higher positions than those with four. They consumed humans for food, herding us through the desert like cattle in their strange machines. I had found a cluster of survivors near the mountains and hoped that if we could ascend the peaks, the dinosaurs wouldn't follow us into the colder altitudes. But only hours after finding the group, we spied a scout flying towards us in a strange little silver airplane with an open cockpit and everyone began to run. I didn't see how darting into the open could be much of a solution. So, I remained near the boulders watching the capture of my new friends. I was horrified to watch the scout indulge in a snack while dragging in the nets. I began ascending the path unnoticed with hunger gnawing at my belly. Dust particles clung to my face and hair, sticking in my throat. I felt parched and feverish, wishing to find a pool of water. But I climbed for hours. Finally, trees marked a drastic change of scenery. The air cooled. A rumble of thunder filled me with joy. The dinosaurs had taken our rain away with their superior intellect of weather control. Perhaps, thinking they had the upper hand, they had dropped their guard to allow a few showers to fall. I spied a house in the distance, nearly camouflaged by the surroundings. Several people greeted me as I hurried to them. I noticed they had a strange device that appeared very similar to the alien technology. One man explained that we could give the dinosaurs a dose of their own medicine and regain control of the planet. But before he could finish telling me about it, we heard the whirl and rumble of several engines. I realized, with horror, that I had led the dinosaurs here. The man waved my anxiety away saying, "This is good news, indeed. We can test our weapon." Good news? The ground shook as several creatures advanced, ripping the trees aside with powerful arms, tails, and tusks. The clouds above us began to thicken, turning green, and a tornado burst from it. I realized the man controlled the storm with the device, sending the tornado sweeping towards the dinosaur as easily as driving a remote controlled car. He herded the monsters toward the cliff where they fell to their deaths.