I had a dream last night.
It was a long, restless, wandering dream.
I didn't want to be in the place where I was, but I couldn't wake myself.
It seemed like a hundred years had been shoved into a few moments.
A thousand visions came in and lingered.
Moments froze even as time moved ahead.
I saw myself alone, standing in the middle of a ruined world.
It was in my eyes, all the years that had gone by.
But I didn't remember those years.
I had been somewhere else.
Somewhere dark, somewhere hidden.
I had been kept safe… alone, asleep.
Held in sterile coldness, dreamless slumber, waiting for my waking moments to return.
Waiting for my keepers to let me back out into the world.
They woke me, they released me, they told me to find my own way.
In this place… this world of ash and dust, of death and wanting.
My own way… there, in the aftermath of Armageddon.
The streets there were empty… empty of people, but not of relics.
Overturned cars, toppled poles, smashed window glass… all dusted with red ash.
And all was silent.
There were no horns, no voices, no children laughing.
Just the silence of a world that was long dead.
Just the echoes of memories.
This street and that building… I remembered them.
I knew them from some time so long ago.
But that was before I fell asleep, before the quiet days.
All I wanted was to go home.
Home… I could remember the way home.
I returned there, like I had so many times when I was younger.
But my home had fallen to pieces.
Everything was the same, but so different.
Nobody answered when I called out.
I hadn't expected them to be there, anyway.
I had hoped and prayed, but I knew… I knew they would be gone.
Like everything else, like everyone else.
I went to my room, laid myself down on my dusty bed, and closed my eyes.
I could still hear the voices, echoing inside.
Laughter, angry fights, calm conversations.
They all came rushing back, reminding me that this place used to be home.
I opened my eyes and I could almost see the ephemeral shades of the people that I once loved.
The people that I still loved, despite time having torn them away from me.
I saw us there… I saw us living, I saw us hopeful for the future.
We didn't know back then that the future had no hope for us.
I closed my eyes again and drifted to sleep.
I listened to things I couldn't hear, I dreamed in the midst of my dream.
I dreamed that time hadn't stolen them.
I dreamed that the future was just a nightmare.
I dreamed that I would open my eyes and find myself back home where I belonged.
My real home, with my family still around me, still breathing, still loving.
I slept forever in my dream.
Forever… peaceful, warm, and wanted.
I woke to life as I know it.
I heard the running of water, the muted rumble of distant traffic.
I heard my brothers arguing over small things that didn't matter.
I heard my father scolding them gently.
I sat up on my bed and looked around me, then reached up and rubbed my eyes.
Grit gathered in them, irritating, urging on cleansing tears.
Looking down at my hands I saw red dust across my knuckles.
I blinked and it was gone… back into the dream I drew it out of.
But I wonder now.
I wonder where I really am.
Am I really home with my family?
Am I with my silent captors, allowed a few lingering dreams?
Or am I still lying on top of the dust, in a world where only the dead belong?
Which is the reality, which is the dream?
Does it matter?
I am where I want to be.
Dream or not, my family exists here.
They are alive, I am free.
If I am dreaming, I pray that I never wake up.
I want this to be the last thing I ever know.
I want to remember my brothers, my father… not coldness and red dust.
I want to die dreaming of home.