 |
Why Do Some Men Dream,
But Not I? |
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The screeching of the tires stayed with me. I could hear them long after I had landed. The coldness of death was creeping in as the ambulance came to a stop. The paramedics rushed to my side...
The last thing I can recall was the paramedic's voice, "Sir? Can you understand me? Can you follow my finger? Sir? Dammit, we're losing him! Get the paddles! Charge to..."
The inky blackness stuck to my soul, I felt like I was swimming in a pool of tar. There was a voice speaking, but I could not make out the words. Suddenly the pool started to swirl around, I was pulled under and fought to keep my head above the surface. As I was pulled downward, I could hear my mother's voice, crying softly.
I awoke on a cold stone slab. My vision was blurry and indistinct. I blinked several times before realizing that nothing was wrong with my eyes, it was the world that was blurry. I sat up and the world swam before my eyes slightly before clearing. I was in a small, white-washed room. The slab was the only thing marring the otherwise flawless cube.
As I stood, the slab receded into the floor, leaving me in a completely featureless room. I don't know how long I was in there, but after awhile I began to hear voices, always indistinct and far away, yet I could make out my mother's voice and my name being spoken over and over.
The room started to shake, violently. I was flung around like a rag doll in a shoe box. The battering I took knocked me out once more.
I was once again in the inky blackness, swimming against a powerful current pulling me down. As the water was sucked into the maw of a great underwater beast, I swam for my life...
I was standing in a grassy field. As the sun beat down upon my bare back, I started to walk.
I swiftly found myself staring at a large town, bustling with activity. Though unlike any other town I had ever seen, it seemed to be familiar to me somehow. I walked through streets of this bustling merchant city, unseen, unheard.
None of the people within the walls of this great city would respond to my questions, shouts, even dire threats enticed no response. I wandered alone and unheard for a long time.
Time is meaningless when there is nothing to gauge it's passage by. Floating in the inky blackness, slowly being consumed by the darkness weighing on my soul, I was left to wonder, "Why do some men dream...?"
A smiling fox stood before me. He was humanoid, about 5 feet tall, with two arms and two legs. His vulpine muzzle was stretched into the equivalent of a manic grin. Strangest of all was not the image of a kitsune, a Japanese fox sprit, standing before me. It was the image of a kitsune wearing a business suit. He turned to speak to me.
I floated in the blackness, shouting my question, my eternal question; "Why do some men dream...?!"
The residents of this strange city were interesting to watch. The passage of life is far more interesting when you are not a part of it. I watched as families grew old, I saw children brought into the world. I watched as they brought children of there own into the world. I cried as they passed into the next life.
Through all of this I watched, always an observer, never a participant.
...and still I ask; "Why do some men dream...?"
My ears started to move up my head as reddish fur began to grow on them. The fur quickly replaced my hair, and proceeded to spread down my face. My nose and mouth began to push outward from my face, elongating into a vulpine muzzle.
Still I wonder, "Why do some men dream...?"
The kitsune was speaking to me, but his words were lost to me. As the fox sprit continued to talk, I could feel my mind slipping away from me. I was loosing a battle for my soul. A battle I could not even perceive.
My hands changed, becoming covered in white fur. My fingernails were replaced by small black nails. I saw a tail emerge from my behind, pushing aside my pants and stretching outward.
"Why do some men dream...?"
The pull was becoming stronger, or I was getting weaker. Either way, I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold on... I heard my mother's voice and cling to the sound like a life-line. I was pulled under once more...
The city was growing up. They had discovered how to make gunpowder. I tried to stop them, but I was ignored. I watched as they created weapons, "to protect ourselves." I cried as they killed each other.
The kitsune was still speaking, but I could not hear his words. I raged at him, "Tell me! Tell me what you know! Get me out of here! Save me... please?"
He began to laugh.
My mind was fading, I could feel my sanity slipping away. A lone voice held me up. My mother was still speaking and, while I could not make out the words, the sound of her voice comforted me. I floated in the darkness, crying for my soul.
Why do some men dream...?
The doctors had done everything that modern medicine could do. It was simply a matter of time now. Wait to see if he ever woke up, or if the coma was permanent.
The boy's mother had not left his bed side since the accident. The nurses tried to convince her to leave, but after the first week, they conceded and only brought her food.
Three more kids were hit, two killed and the third lost the use of his legs, before the police managed to catch the drunk driver. In the trial he told the judge that he was "really, really sorry."
He was torn apart in county lock up by a man in for molesting a child.
The boy never woke up.
...but not I?
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