Death Dreams

By Jason Marion

(Copyright 000115)

He no longer remembered the days behind him, he could only remember the days ahead. He could always quote what was needed to be done; but, never realized what he had completed. Richard did not think that he lived for the moment until he realized that he was dead.

Reviewing his credo; he knew that his planning had kept time just moments ahead of whatever was happening, just ahead of time itself, and that fifteen minutes into the future is what allowed his mind to acomplish anything. Now, he was begining to wonder what had done. He never saw it comming.

His eyes could only see sky; the calming blue interupted by puffs of white, lazily rolling away in the same direction. There were people around him, closing in on him, but he could only concentrate on the daylight-moon. Somewhere in the black of his mind thought about how that happened sometimes. You could be walking out-side, for lunch maybe, and there would be the moon in the midst of broad daylight. Not pausing to see if the machine he calls his body was capable of moving or not, he just kept watching the moon.

"Must be near dinner-time." he muttered to the people en-circled around him. The image reminded him of being in the downtown section of any one of the many cities he had visited. When he coughed up blood, he thought about the fountains in Houston.

"Time has caught up with me, hasn't it?" He asked the moon, reaching for it as if it were mere inches from him.

"Hey, thats my badge..." a deep, steady voice erupted from the psuedo-skyline in Richards eyes. "You just sit tight; I'll get you out of here. You'll be okay."

Then, to Richardt, all the buildings had turned white, and only the still emptiness of blue provided proof to him that the world he once knew was still there. As he was loaded into the ambulance, his blue sky and day-light moon did not desert him. He was glad for that. Never had he felt so alone, so confused, and so out of time. All the people he had once known were no where to be found. In the moment, he realized that even his memory was failing him. His mind would not allow such thoughts, he pondered, if he was to survive. Never had he allowed time to catch up with him.

"You hang-on, there, buddy." The police officer continued to coach.

the paramedics ran three I.V.'s, administered four shots and then sat down for the ride. To them, there was no hurry. Even the officer knew that this man was not going to make it, that he would not survive. Unlike the paramedics, the officer could not help but remember that there was a person on the stretcher, and that he would be the last version of life the man would know. He felt obligated to honor that, and sat next to Richard, grasping his hand. Richard recognized a certain disapointment in the sky that the day-light moon traveled through.

"What happened?", Richard asked the moon in an odd sort of calmness, as red began to play against the blue. Made him think of green, of grass. He thought about how the blue-grass, and the beauty of kentucky, was always as green as the carny's desire that ran the fairs. He then remembered that it was still a beautiful thought, the carnival, the Fair. That time, that place, that memory. an amazing place to see as a child such a moment to remember, he thought.

"You just rest easy..." the officer began, " Here, squeeze my hand... hold on. You're gonna be alright."

Richard wondered why the spirit of the day-light moon would wish to embrace him, but it did. Upon arrival at the hospital, twenty-eight minutes later, the sky and the moon had embraced Richard entirely, and swallowed him whole.

Once Richard realized that he was awake, he also discovered that he was sitting upright and screaming with such an ammount of force that his vocal-chords refused to amplify. A silent, desperate scream that just passes through the throat, and although every once of resolve forced the air needed to scream, such an expression reamined silent. Still in mid-scream, Richard realized that it hurt to scream, but not scream. So he stopped.

It was just as well he did, for when the panic receeded his eyes noticed that he was alone. The eyes also said it was dark. A schitzo-phrenic darkness that allowed his eyes no clues, no shapes, no objects. Even his ears could not register anything; but, his arm felt a slight breeze and goosebumps. A sensation that took Richard so much by surprise that he decided it was the best feeling ever. Resolving to survival skills, he decided to wait for dawn. After all that had happened, he decided to hope for reassuring illuminesence to add some clarity to his situation. He also realized that he was tired. For Richard, it was never a question of "if", but "when".

Then again, there is a certain power attributed to darkness that Richards knowledge of psychology did not expect. Pure darkness made him decide for the first time in his life to say "if". When dawn did not arrive, he had to dicern his next move.

Richard knew that with light, time moves. He could see that. Darkness gave no clues to what the universe cared for him to know. Waiting for dawn had become an endurance contest for him. With no light, and no laws of physics to comfort him; he had decided that only minutes had past even though the space between felt more like an entire afternoon at the club when whiskey was the only company. Whiskey, and the haunting memories that never cease to repeat. He knew that time was moving forward, but how was that affecting him? Where was he? Where was the comfort of time?

After all the moments had passed, as far as he could figure it had; Richard decided it was time for action. Waiting for dawn, no matter how much time had passed, was no longer an option. His patience had pawned into more questions than daylight. He decided to get up.

Once Richard was awake, he realized it had only been a dream. Still, he paused before physically opening his eyes, as the fear gently gripped him. He was afraid it would still be dark even though his closed eyes revealed the orange glow of sunlight on the eyelids.

That was when the pain in his throat proved to him that he was repeating some sort of a pattern; perhaps that was what the fear really was. then he decided to breathe rather than scream, but not scream.

Closing his throat, and swallowing for comfort, he realized that he had already opened his eyes. There was light; illumination. Then again, he was alone, still in the midst of nothing. then and there he decided to never debate "if" and "when" again. Now it was time for "where", and then, possibly, "why". With a slow spin in a circle, Richards eyes told him that he was standing in the middle of sand that expanded to the horizon in every direction. Closing his eyes, and seeing the golden orange again, Richards skin registered the same brreeze as before. Again, goosebumps. the wind felt as if it was comming from all directions at once, constantly. It cooled him, head on, in any direction he turned. As if he was bathed in a constant, cool feeling.

opening his eyes again, he felt the need for the blue-sky, and the comfort of the day-light moon; but, he paused. Again, the fear gripped him, comming quickly this time.

""Time has caught up with me." he whispered, as he closed his eyes and turned his head toward the sky. He could not stand being unable to know what was going to happen next. With a sudden force, he opened his eyes and screamed an audible shriek of joy as his whole world was, again, blue with the little puffs of white flowing away in unison. His back registered that he had fallen backwards in his pursuit, and was now laying in the sand.

"Odd sort of ballet, really." he said in a calmer voice, as he stood up again.

At that moment, a piece of safely filed physics crept to the front of Richards thoughts. Richard looked at the clouds, and then closed his eyes as he slowly spun in a full circle.

"The clouds move one way," he surmised, with the clear knowledge that only reflective mirrors witness; "...the breeze hits me on all sides."

He spun around in several small cirles to test the theory before he dicided that there was only one course of action. "I guess I'll follow the clouds." he decided, and began to walk.. Unknowingly, he headed for the sun.

Not realizing that it was the time and space that allowed his mind to wander, Richard began to re-trace his steps. This was something he had never done before. He thought of the stacks of weekly and monthly planners that remained stored in his attic for reasons of record; unseen by anyone the very moment they ran out of space. When they ran out of time. Under the heat of the sun, he began to remember the last moments before the darkness. Blindly wandering at this point, he began to talk to himself.

"I saw the sky-scraper, the sky of blue...", he started. The heat was taking its toll, and his mind demanded to wander for a bit longer. "What is this place?", he whispered, as if keeping a secret to himself.

"Blue..." he stated, with a firm voice and a new grasp on the task before him. "I must contend with the color blue."

Before he could begin another thought, a wave of confusion rushed over his mind, causing his body to stumble forward. His eyes began to trace the sky, rolling backwards into his head; as if he had seventeen beers, and then laid down for a moment.

"NO!", he screamed, clasping his head with his hands. Dropping to his knees, he screamed again, this time closing his eyes and looking skyward.

opening his eyes, he heard his screams echo through the nothingness, while his eyes embraced the blue sky; the puffs of white.

"What was that!", he whispered in a fiercly-frightened-falsetto, still staring upwards with a fear of the horizon and its visible definitions.

As he stood, he wondered if he should look down. That had brought the dizziness before, he rationalized. Still gazing upwards, he thought about the turkey's who would drown when looking straight up in the sky, trying to piece together why water was falling on them. this thought led to ostriches, who thought hiding their eyes hid their bodies. he was deep in the fear now. Richard felt exposed; but had a greater fear of the horizon, of looking down. Closing his eyes, he muttered: "It shouldn't move." He lowered his head, and prepared to open his eyes.

Richard was taken back by what he was witnessing. He appeared to be in the entry-hall of a very large home. Very ornate, with extensive oak panneling and trimmings. On itehr side ofhim, the house expanded down long corridors, also bearing the smane ammount of wood detailing. Original works of art hung from the walls, perfectly balance and displayed with glass frames. The whole place was lit with tiny kerosene lamps in the walls, and a large electric-bulb chandelier.

"I've seen this before.", Richard told no-one, elegantly distracted by the new surroundings. "Perhaps in school...", he hypothesised, as he walked down the hall and into the sudy. Once inside the room, Richard quickly ignored the vast collection of books, and volumes, in lie of a three story widow box.

"Exelent workmanship.", he mused, stroking the trim of the window. "Perfect cuts... on the wood."

"Angelica!!"; was the loud noise that caused Richard to jump as he whipped around to the source of the most annoying, grinding voice he had ever witnessed. Alas, whipping around when your thinking proved to be too much for Richard, at one time, and he fell to the floor. this was more eviedince that he was not at his own strength yet. Begining to pick himself up; his eyes met a heftly womans likeness, perfectly primmed in servants gowns, who seemed to be staring straight at him.

"I insist that you dis-continue this foolishness and come to bed. We still have a bath, and a snack... if your good... and, my, aren't we just behind schedule. The lord would have my job, he finds out how often this happens."

Richard was shocked, and barely had a responce but to move his arm upward and point his finger at himself. Having done this, and freezing a thouroughly stupid expression on his face, his shocked stare did not notice a littlele girl. She was climbing down from the top of the boolcase next to him. Once she crossed his thousand-mile stare; Richard decided that he had a completly new, and certainly a more pertinent, reason to be shocked.

"I've seen her to!", he yelled, jumping in the air a little. His expression had changed from the stupid version into one of almost joy.

Then Richard realized that saying such a thing might seem a little odd to the servant standing in front of him. Feeling exposed in a strange and familiar territory, Richard dove for the large table in the middle of the room. The instict to hide came over him so suddenly that he was under the table before he knew what he was doing.

"As if yelling wasn't obviose enough...", he whipered to himself in a cowered position safe beneath the table

Looking out from underneath the table, Richard expected to see a very confused servant, and, possibly, a giggling little girl. Instead, he was all alone. The servant and the little girl had gone. Richard didn't hear a little girl giggling. He thought, for a moment, that he heard the sound of a little girl whimpering. Not giggles. He was sure of that.

Richard remembered how that particular sound made him feel sad. He didn't want to think that anyone would need to make such a sound. as he began to wonder why such a sound should exist at all, he came into the realization that he was standing. Somewhere along the thinking process, he had gotten up and was now standing in the middle of a thirteen-foot oak table. It was four inches thick. He could see the thickness of the table, but he couldn't see his legs.

"My legs!", he shrieked in his falsetto, fear-gripped voice. Then the warm-emotion of understanding washed over him. He remembered that he seems to be going into all sorts of places he doesn't remember going to.

"It's as if... all of a sudden, I'm here.", he thought aloud, as he walked in tiny circles in the middle of the table. Then he struck a mental-gold-mine. "Blue."

Richard made a point of watching his legs reappear after he walked out from the edge of the table. He was headed for the window. He knew tht he needed to see the sky. when he looked out the window, and saw what he expected, and he suddenly felt disapointed. There was blue sky, white clouds; but, it did not sooth him as it had before. It was almost as if the clouds were not flowing, not moving at all. The thought of the whimpers had gripped him more than the calm of the blue sky. Having stood in the middle of a table that is supposed to have substance gave him reason to pause, and re-think the next course-of-action. Having been denied the ability to act, he decided to follow.

Passing throught the closed study door, and back into the grand enterance, Richard crept silently towards the stair. Then he dicided to test a theory.

"Baths must be upstairs!" he shouted, testing the reality of his existence. Satisfied with no responce, he began to climb the stair. They, too, were three stories high. Again, he stroked the wood, and admired the construction. Even the carpet laid victim to Richards admiration. That was when he began to notice the whimpers had evolved in to screams.

Subdued shrieks of fear began to echo towards Richard. Like lightning upon his spine, the cries fueled his resolve as he bolted up the stairs, down the long hallway. He followed his ears to where the anguish grew louder.He found the entry-way to the bathroom and ran to see a scene he had been expecting since the first screech.

Richard rushed to knock the large woman to the floor; all in the hopes of retrieving the bright-red child fighting the heat of the water. as he lept head first, arms extended to shatter the hefty ladies cruelty, He had forgotten the reality of his disposition. He passed right through the hefty lady, the little girl, the bathtub, and the opposing wall.

this was when Richard learned the first rule of his new situation. Earth is very, very solid. Crashing into the ground impacted on Richard so hard, and unexpectedly, that he was shaken, if not stirred. once of his face, and sitting on his rump, he was saddened by the continued cries of the little girl who was recieving a bath no one deserves.

"Damnable woman!!", he screamed with such a force that it actualy felt good to him to scream; even fully aware of the small ammount of impact he was capable of inflicting on anything.

"Wish I was back at nothing.", he said, kicking a small copper-frog, who just rolled onto its back, and revealed a multitude of rolly-polly bugs.

Just for the sheer joy of verbaly expelling all the frustration he had for being unable to help; Richard stamped his foot and filled his lungs for the most desperate and enrages scream he could muster. Just as his lungs peaked thier capacity, and he was ready to roar; a sound so powerfull knocke the very breath out of him and threw him to the ground.

"NO!!"

It was short and sweet... and lowd. Seconds after; many identifyable pieces, and some not so identifiable, of the servant came exploding through the wall, destroying the very wall he had slipped through. Then he saw something that was the little girl, but wasn't. An angry, vile appearance of what the little girl used to be. An evil version that was growing taller, and a little older, eith each passing second.

"Mother?", Richard called out, now on his feet. A simple ammount of recognition in his mind had come up with a startling revelation. An instant later he remembered that he did not really exist.

The ten foot tall mother, as a teenager, then proceeded to destroy the rest of the walls. Continueing to grow, she destroyed all of the bathroom and started in on the rest of the house. as the house was being destroyed, the surviving sections of the house appeared to be aging as the mother aged. By the time half the house laid in ruin, mother was twenty feet tall. This was when Richard realized that he recognized the place. It was his home, the one he grew up in. When the study smashed into rubble, it had aged to a time when he remembered it well. It didn't have that old out-dated oak-table. The three-story window box was gone. the lines in his mother's face, also, were growing familiar. When the house was completly destroy, his mother was at the age he last remembered visiting her.

"You're sixtieth birthday...", Richard uttered under his breath.

By this time, Richard guessed his mother to be a good fifty foot tall. with the house demolished, the elderly mother fell to the ground, as the wood beams, nails, and brick scarred her knees, cutting deeply. She bega to weep as she began to dig into the ruin, as if in a desperate search for what remained in the ruin. She pulled out a tiny body. It was a little girl, just noticibly different than the one before. to Richard it was obviose.

"Rochelle..", he whispered, now saddened by his powereless veiwpoint of the spectator.

Then the ground began to rumble, in even metered steps, as across the horizon marched a sturdy-giant of a man. Richard recognized this figure to be his father around the age of twenty-seven. Father knelt beside mother, and put his arm aound her as he thrusthis own hand into the ruin, and pulled out a young-man-body. It was as limp as the little girl.

Father raised up, and extended the arm he had around mother, to help her up. Still, he held the young man. Mother stood with the little girl in her hand.. This was when fathe did something that Richard did not understand. while mmother seemed to be totaly consumed witht the little girl in herhands, father took the young man, and laid him beside the litl girl in mothers hands. then he placed his hand over hers, trapping the two inside.. Then he gripped her hand hard, ad mother began to recoil, and protest, in the thought of what would happen to the two inside; but, father was adamant. He placed his other armaround mother, and pulled her in close for an embrace allowing the two of their hands to be trapped between each others hearts. Fatherpulled away from mother, and pulled his hand away from hers. Before the fear of seeing the children again gripped her, mother noticed that as father pulled his hand away, a small ball of goldedn-light escaped away into the air. As Richard saw it; they escaped away ito the calming blue, surrounded by puffs of white.

Father put his arm around mother, smiled, and aged into the mature years robert was really witness to. Together, mother and father walked into the sun...

...as they disapeared beyond the horizon, Richards head began to spin again. In an effort to fight it, he closed his eyes and screamed. He felt on the brink of a sensory-overload when he began to focus on the orange color of the sun beating on his closed eyelids. Feeling the warmth, he felt solid again for a moment. Then, the outside of his eyes turned black. Laying down, he knew he was afraid to ever open his eyes again.

Richard did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he woke up. to his delight, his closed eyes registered the warm orangle glow. This time it felt comforting, almost reassuring. When he opened his eyes, the blue sky greeted him and gave evidence that he had, in addition to deciding to sleep, decided to lay down. He put his hands on his chest, and began the morning ritual of mental inventory. He began to run down in his mind exactly what had been going on as of recently. It was all so bewildering to him, so confusing. The moments he had witnessed were so out of time that , to his mind, they defyed deffinition. Richard felt like it was all moving too fast to be processed.

"This is why I like to plan."< he mused to himself with a slight smirk, as he got up and brushed the sand off. Looking down on what was his bed, he realized that the wind had partialy buried him in the sand. He figured the wind, blowing from all directions, had begun the sands erternal task of hiding anything that comes into it. Any obstacle can be traveled over. Richard thought that the shape on the ground almost appeared to be a grave. "Time didn't catch up with me!", Richard suddenly announced, as quickly as the realization had hit him:" "I'm out of time, damnit... I'm dead."

But; before the idea had time to sink in, Richard began to feel dizzy again. This time the illness had a different effect than before. this time it was an empty sickness in the bottom of his stomach. When he felt so dizzy that he feared collapse, he grabbed his head, closed his eyes, and sat down.

Then a strange thought occured to him. He realized that in order to sit down, you needed something to sit down on. He also decided, before pondering if he should open his eyes, that the very fact that he was sitting meant that he surely must be sitting down on something. Recognizing the emptiness in his belly was the fear; Richard decided, against his own best judgement, to open his eyes.

"It's definitly no 'if' or 'when'," he sayed before having a look;"It is most surly 'why'".

Richard found himself to be sitting at a table. It was set for what he was sure was brunch. Richard reached, instincualy, for the napkin, and placed it properly in his lap. He then grabbed the glass on the table, and took a drink. It was orange-juice and champagne, and Richard decided he had never tasted anything so wonderful in all his life. Looking around, he realized that he was now in a restuarant. there were many tables, many guests.

The table he was seated at was only set for one, and soon the waiter came out and searved the brunch: Two waffles, bacon, and a Turkey and swiss sandwich. It was Richards favorite. He did not speak to the waiter, fearing that the substance he lacked the last time might return before he had something to eat. It was halfway through s waffle that Richard realized that the odd thought in the back of his mind, nagging him while he munched, needed to be heard pretty soon. It was an idea that brought back the fear.

"There's no walls.", he spoke though a mouthfiul of turkey and swiss.

With a good mouthful to work on, Richard looked around the resturaunt. There were no wall at all, and the entire resturaunt appeared to be set up in the middle of the desert. Kicking ot the sand underneath his table for reassurance, Richard decided that confusion would easier to deal with than immence hunger, and decided that as long as he was not in any visible danger, he would not ask "why". With the waffles finished, the bacon gone; Richard stood up from the table with the remaining half of his sandwich,took a long drink from the glass of water, and began to walk around in what he was sure that , if any one was really able to watch him, was a terribly disoriented wander..

He was willing to bet that he had as little substance here than when he was in the house. He also believed that no one was going to pay him any mind. Still eating; Richard tried to come up with some form of evidence that supported this idea. It was then that he realized that the absence of proof was what gave him that idea; for, even in the middle of this scene, Richard could not hear the clink of toasting glasses. There was a missing baby's cry; no conversation flooded over others words. To Richard, there was only the silent moan of the gentle breeze. Richard tested this theory be smelling the roses on a table where two lovers seemed to be in the middle of an agreeable afternoon. He then raised his sandwich to his nose, and again inhaled deeply.

"I can smell the sandwich,", he whipered in the ladies ear," but not the rose... even your expected perfume escapes me...".

He was tempted to go ahead and look down her blouse, considering that he was a ghost, but decided not to risk the remaining morsel in his hands for fear that morality may make the whole scene disapear, and become nothing once more. as far as he knew, it could all just be a gift of familiar feeding.

While Richard was still debating what he should do about the temptations of being a ghost, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt like he was being watched. The common feeling you get in a bus station when some bum is staring at you, right before he makes a straight line for you and pitches for free money. To find where this feeling came from, he began to scan the room. Then, he found the face that was looking at him.

"Richard!", he heard himself say.

In his own memory, he flashed back to a time when games of war and camophlage dress brimmed on the forefront of a ten year olds mind. Back then, the toy guns were made very realistic, even though they only popped caps. The subtle stradgedy he and his best friend had used when they went through the back-yards of the old nieborhood. The system of how alway s came first. Lead the team, be the decoy, chase them away from their flag. let them follow you through the yards and roofs until they think they have you cornered, and then disapear like a coon with too many tricks behind the hounds. Thier flags would always be ours. He remembered that to a childs mind, the game was every-thing, where sucess was only measured by how you knew the rules, and the broke them to win.

"Hi.", the man staring straight into Richards eyes blurted. He was staring more in disbelief towards Richard than in congenial recognition. Then, a sad expression came over his face, as he looked down to the sand under his table. Richard, for a second, thought he was recognizing something he had seen once in a dream. It was a moment when the elements of the moment so failed to add up that the mind remembers that it is asleep somewhere else while all this goes on. Just as Richard began to settle in to that thought, the older rendition of his childhood friend looked up at him with saddened eyes and said: "See ya later, bobby."

And as quickly as both the sences of memories had traveled; Richards eternal vision of sand, sky, and a facial-hair recognition of wind returned. The brunch, morsel in hand, orange-juice and champagne, and his dear friend had disapeared. Once again he realized that he was screaming. This time it not only had the full force of pain in his voice-box, but the volume as well. It was all he could do not to cry.

Richard did not pay attention to when it was that he layed down and decided to sleep. To him, he just continued to think about where he was and what had happened until he woke up. He stood up the instant his eyes opened in a performance of repition, with the fear not being a part of his waking thoughts. Richard took this as a sign that he was getting accostomed to his surroundings, no matter how little definition or understanding he had assertained. A routine had been absorbed.

He sat in a cross-legged position patiently waiting for the days events. In his mind, he tried to mentaly prepare himself for anything while still attempting to piece together any thread of logic to what he had already been a ghostly-witness to. It was at this time that he realized that there was a small, definitive streak of black upon the horizon. Trying to define the shape, as it gave him relief from trying to figure everything that now existed to him, Richard allowed his mind to wander and his imagination to roam. Of all the silly ideas that came into his mind, the only one that stuck was that of a man being silouetted by the sun as he approached on foot. After two hours of this game in Richards mind, the shape had a definite shape. It was indeed a man aproaching. In Richards mind, not only the shape had the definition fo a man, the distance being as short as it was had a revelation. It was someone Richard knew. To him-self, he whispered: "Arty?"

"Uncle Arty!", Richard shouted, not knowing if he would recieve a responce. His mind had grown so weary of not being a participent in the events that happened to him in the waste-land that only the stupidity of hope made him couragouse enough to say anything out loud at all. That same hope allowed him to think that there might actualy be a responce. Why not? The last time something had appeared to him, it recognized him. Indeed, it had been the only thing that had any substance to him since he had become to be in this place. I tsmelled, talked, and for a brief moment, listened.

"Why little Ricky, you small speck of shit you.", the figure that approached screamed at the top of his lungs so that the words may travel in the fifty-some-odd yards between them: "So time finnaly caught up with you, did it!"

Richard was very exicted, and happy to be in the middle of a conversation starting, as he began to run toward the figure, but had to come to a screeching stop when he was mere inches from him. Somewhere in his mind the fear had entered in, as he remembered how little substance he had had earlier to these situations.

"Don't worry, fucker, I'm really here. You can even hug me if you want to." the traveling figure said. as the words entered Richards mind, he processed them and still hesitated. "Yes, Richard, it is really me."

In the storage-bank a of mind that was Richard, a moment of pain seared through his body as he remembered that his uncle Arty had died under very mysteriouse circumstances. Being a child at the time, Richard knew only that a dear version of his father seemed to disapear when he was very young. the pain of this memory hurt Richard so much that he doubled over in pain, and dropped to all fours in the sand. Keeping his manly face of pain-passes-quickly, Richard raised one hand to hold the source of his pain: his chest seemed to be exploding. At seeing this, the figure ran to his side, and knelt beside him.

"No, Richard! Don't try to remember here. It will tear you apart. It is a part of being here. You not only carry the memory, but this place will instill you with not only the moments you remember but the full impact of every-one who had something to feel about the moment." Putting his arm around Richard in what could appear to be the beginning stance of a college wrestling match, he concluded with: " and that includes what I was going thtough as well. You need to let it go right away."

Richard took several deep breaths that bordered on hyper-ventilation before he was able to stop the pain, Once the ordeal was over, Rhichard was able to recognize that the logic of what Uncle arty had told wa what he used, like a tool, to turn the pain off. In a thought that scared him, Richard realized that he was right. considering the position he was in, Richard decided to stand up, and let his eye take a deep breath. Once on his feet, he knewthat it was indeed his fathers brother who diapeared all those years ago. Now, he only needed to figure out why he was there.

Uncle Arty continued to stare past the horizon for a very

next is where richard sees himself smoking crack with his wife and children watching. Then he is on the street, homeless, and full of junk.

his final dream:

Richanrd took care to lay himself down slowly, easing into the every changing form of the sand dune.He layed his head down gently, facing his uncle standing above him, his shadow commanding the sun. There Richard began to dream his final dream. He was to see himself, and see if he was ready to move on.

Uncle Arty kept his watch honest, as he slowly folowed the suns path, keeping the shade over Ricard's sleeping figure. Uncle Arty sat down when the sun set, and built a fire as the cold of night began. To him, it was a routine he had known for longer than he cared to remember. It was the only comfort he knew, and the closest friend he had ever found. To Uncle Arty, the wasteland had lasted a very long time, with very few answers.

"It's funny that I came here from a place where I had always know all the answers. Here I know nothing. Now, I am the only answer you need."

Uncle Arty stood up quick, and spun around to face the voice that startled him. Richard walked to the fire and began to warm himself by the fire.

"How did you find wood out here. I have never seen anything but sand."

This idea rang in Uncle Artys mind almost as long as it rang in his ears. He had never seen anything out in the wasteland either. Still, for as long as he had know the place, he had built a fire when the sun set, and it began to get cold. Then a couple of ideas ran into each other, almost by accident, in Uncle Arty's mind. This comfortable practice had to be his own personal dream. His own shelter from the stimulus with no explanation. If it was a dream, than surely something is different about it. It never had Richard in it before.

"This is your dream, Uncle Arty. This is my dream. I want to say I'm sorry. I want to say goodbye."

"But, Richard... I'm used to this... this is my world now. It does not have to be yours."

"Good bye Uncle Arty. You were always good to me."

Uncle Arty did not have any more time to protest. For him, it was time to move on. His was the the next step. For Richard, he had one more step to go.

The End.

The next thing rbert knew, he was in te trenches of some sort of war. with a stream if rockets booming over his head, and a trench full of frozen, adult, children did he realiz that he had been in this situation before. Only because of books could he know that such a constuction was made in a time of was. Not knowing wahy he was there, he began to think about waht it took to be a soldier, and a hero. in such a frame of mind, he decided that the stalemate of a situation he had been witness to needed an action to resolve the amount of inaction he was involved in.. what is the fucking scene? where the fuck is he?? how does he save the girl that is his true love left on an plane he is no longer a part of?? I feel as if I don't know what I am doing.

it is the uncle who bridges the gap between reality and where life is now for Richard.