I am standing in a
large room.
No. It is not a room. It is
more than that.
A building?
Yes. An entire building.
It is the type of
building that has layers.
Floors.
Levels.
It is tall. I can see myself from above and I look incredibly
small. I can see the entire building from above. I can look through the walls
and examine the space as if it were a blueprint. I feel as if something lives
here. The space is massive. It is massive enough for a leader of a nation to
call home.
The walls are sandy. It
has an Arizona tint. The atmosphere is a slightly burnt orange. The colors
remind me that I should feel hot.
But I am neutral. I feel nothing.
The building is a
large corporation. Similar to a Walmart or a Costco. It is a large supermarket
for your everyday needs. I am one of many; stocking shelves that rise with no
end in sight.
The products.
Ceaseless.
There is no ceiling.
There are only escalators and they only go up.
I ride an escalator to
what I believe is the top floor. It is
time for me to leave. To go home. I don’t remember working very long, but I
have the sense that I have just spent a lot of time in this building. I run into
my father and step-mother. They have a kitten in their hands.
“We just found it. You
must hold onto her and deliver it to your sister. Hide it,” my father says.
They are very eager to
pass the kitten down to me. I don’t understand why I must hold onto the kitten
since we are going to end up at the same place eventually. We will end up
home.
I agree to take the
kitten. I smile as it fits into the palm of my hand. It is silent and small.
Black and white. Luckily, I have a large knapsack and she fits perfectly
inside.
I walk across a large
glass ballroom where all of the cars for the employees are parked. It is an enormous
square plot. A giant used car sales lot. I find my car and it looks as if it
will be impossible to move.
I am inside, behind
the wheel. I throw my knapsack behind me. In mid-throw I remember the kitten,
but when I search for her I realize she is gone.
Did she fall out?
Hide it. Hide it. Hide it.
I hear these words. I panic that whomever I
am supposed to be protecting the kitten from will find it.
I run across the lot
and retrace my steps. I see in the distance a large crowd.
Commotion.
People wearing black
shirts.
My kitten must be
there. Crowds always gather around a kitten.
Black cats and kittens
scatter immediately once I begin sifting through the sea of people. My kitten
is not there.
Crack
A rumbling from above.
I look up and I
understand why I never could see the ceiling before. The roof has been replaced
by a mountain. The summit is indistinguishable because it is that high.
The Himalayas
Everest
Nepal
Japan
Fuji
The base is hazy. Rust
and sepia. Wisterias somehow have planted themselves amongst the rocks and
grass. They fail to climb to the peak.
A dusty clay-like
boulder detaches itself from the hidden tip. It happens so fast and before I
know it chaos breaks out. The boulder is rolling quickly. It is suspended in
midair. I am not sure where to go. The boulder is on a mission to destroy.
People
Running
Everywhere
The boulder knocks
through people.
Squishes.
Rolls flat.
It is a bowling ball
and we are the pins.
Strike.
It crushes the vehicles.
I watch from afar as it flattens my car.
Snap
I never noticed the
wires before. The boulder has detached metal wires from their post and they are
now whipping throughout the air.
A man with sandy brown
hair, brown eyes looks at me from across the room. I am reminded again of the recently
frightening gaze men seem to penetrate me with in my dreams.
“I have a splitting
headache,” he screams at me from across the chaotic crowd.
“I have a splitting
headache,” he repeats.
A group of three runs
in between us.
It is loud.
It is so very loud.
I think back to the
kitten and wonder where it is.
Is it safe?
Before I can go
anywhere or say anything another wire snaps and whips through the sandy
brown-haired man. It slices through him. His body falls apart vertically. Into
thirds. Evenly spaced pieces. He slinks to the ground. His heart is in pieces
but his head is partially intact.
I am standing next to
him. His face, from his chin to his eyes, is sliced apart but his brain, his
skull cracked open like an eggshell, is still as one. His eyes. Slowly
blinking. I watch him breathing.
“I have a splitting
headache,” he says once again. His eyes. Never leaving mine. He never stops
watching me. He never removes his gaze.
And now it is quiet.
There are still
thousands of people running for escalators and elevators. They are all
searching for a place to retreat to. They are all searching for a way to get
away from the mountain. Running away from the boulder. Sprinting from the
wires. They can’t find a way to lower ground. But it is quiet now. I cannot
hear them screaming. I cannot hear them yelling out for lost family.
I think back to the
kitten. I think back to when the boulder crushed my car.
If I had never lost the kitten then I would
have been inside when the boulder crushed my car.
There is no way I would have survived. This
realization makes me feel uneasy. I am appreciative for the kitten.
Panic
Just the tiniest change in events could have altered everything.
I feel as if I will be stuck forever feeling as the woman who beat death by a
second.
And then everything is
different.
I am back at the
beginning, but it feels slightly off. I am still me. It occurs to me I am
living in an alternative timeline.
I am back at the
beginning. I am back stocking the never-ending vertical shelves. I am back with
a kitten in my knapsack. I walk to my car in the lot of in-tact, packed-in
vehicles. The kitten is in my lap. Before I can start the ignition a spherical
shadow is looming behind me. I see the mountain in my rearview mirror. I never
noticed I had parked at the base of a 30,000 foot mountain.
I see the boulder. It
is heading straight for me.
Déjà vu.
This is the timeline
where the kitten never left. This is how this short-lived life plays out.
I stare at the kitten
and I am angry. I do not understand why my life is so heavily determined on
such a small object.
Darkness.
I am back at the
beginning. Restart. The kitten has left.
The boulder has never reached me. Wires snap, flailing left instead of right. The
boulder rolling, careening right instead of left.
“I have a splitting
headache,” the man screams out over the hysterical mass. A wire snaps through
him horizontally instead of vertically. He falls apart again, still in thirds. His
eggshell skull exposes his now barely functioning muscle.
The amount of
timelines are endless. I fear that I may never wake up. I am worried it may soon
be my turn to fall apart into thirds. I panic for when my splitting headache
may be too much. I do not know how to escape this cycle.
It is loud
The cycle
It repeats
It ends
It begins
It repeats all over
again
I am angry for
thinking about the kitten. I fear that my thoughts have instigated this repetitive
sequence. How does it end? How to make it end? I want this dream to end.
But it doesn’t.
And then… everything
is hazy.
And then…everything
washes out to yellow.
And then…it is quiet.
