Dreams

Image Credit: Caralyn YoungI was dreaming again.

But was this my dream… or hers?

“Hello?” I called. She was here somewhere, though it was possible she wasn’t lucid yet.

My voice echoed back to me from the seemingly infinite horizon. There was a light in the distance, so I walked toward it across the checkerboard floor.

A meteor shot past overhead, sounding like a cow. Once the mooing faded, I called out for Melody again. “Hello?”

My own footsteps distracted me. Not the sharp dry staccato of linoleum that I expected—they were the deep sucking sounds of swampy mud. But then, all the sounds of this world were incongruous.

The light wasn’t growing any closer, but somehow, I knew I would find her there. “Screw it,” I said. I closed my eyes, picturing myself in that distant beam of light, then spun around. The wind howled around me, sounding like rough sandpaper on stone. When the sound died down, I opened my eyes.

A spotlight shone down from the starscape above me, and in its center stood a mannequin. “Melody,” I said, smiling. So, it must be her dream—or perhaps, nightmare.

I stood in front of her, but her plastic eyes did not move to meet mine.

I clapped, hard, in front of her. It sounded like an obnoxious fart, but it did the trick, startling her into moving. She saw me, recognized me, hugged me.

The spotlight above shut off, and another one came on about fifty meters away, highlighting a door suspended above the endless dancefloor. A voice came from the door. “You unlock this door with the key of imagination,” it repeated endlessly.

I immediately recognized the voice of Rod Serling.

“Shall we?” I asked, smiling. Melody took my hand and we flew up to reach the door.

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