Living the Life of Dreams

There is a fine line between life and death, between dream and reality, between sane and insane. People play with these lines, like a con-artist plays on emotions. Life and death clash with dream and reality, hallucinating and seeing, believing and denial, and with all of the emotions.

Quietly I awaken, not knowing I’m alive. I can’t feel my hands and feet; I can’t see anything beyond the scene unfolding. I see him, my uncle, working in his garage; I’m here with him. I know the scene unfolding before my eyes, I’ve imagined it, pictured it, for years. As I stand motionless, I extend my arms, only to watch the scene creep back, away from my grasp. I see him turning, the fear and sadness in his eyes, like he knows what is happening. I can’t move to help him; I am frozen, alive in the senses, but invisible to them. I see the other, the assassin, staring at him behind me. I hear the echo from the shot and watch my beloved friend fall, his knees buckling under his dead weight. I cry, “My uncle, dearest uncle,” but he cannot hear me. He collapses to the cement, staring intently as his remaining breath seeps out through his parted lips, as if he was in prayer. He sighs, lifting his spirit to the heavens. I stand above his lifeless body sobbing, knowing my family would die, severed, alone, wishing that we could go back and save him.

I awaken with a jump on a surgical table, my stomach stitched tightly at the side. Where am I? How did I get here? The doctor says I can go home, my wound from my car accident stitched and clean. As I walk past rooms I see peering eyes, and the sadness whisks me away, back to the scene I had relived. I flash back as I hear doctors bustling about, shouting and pushing a white sheeted bed. I cry as I see the face on the table. I see my beloved uncle on the table, only moments away from being saved. I reach out to the bloodied face, so beautiful. And he opens his eyes.

I couldn’t believe what I saw, I knew he was dead. But he seemed so real, so perfect except for the blood that was covering his features, the missing side that he laid on so carefully to hide. He looked into my face and smiled, leaving me speechless, showing his love and gratitude to me, only me. The pain, I thought, the agony. He died knowing I loved him, and I got to see him one last time after he died. He was peaceful yet again, and I knew there was nothing I could have done to save him. I cried and left my dreams to sleep, where they would be peaceful and calm, no longer haunting or frightening.

Cassie Mattson