Disclaimer: I think you pretty much know what I'm going to say here. Not
mine. Period. End.
What Dreams May Come
"Amazing, isn't it?" my father asked. I turned to meet his eye in
surprise as he emerged from the trees, the look on his face showing
his awe.
"It's incredible," I said, gazing back at the tiny boat. "...I can't believe I actually did it."
"Nothing's impossible," he said. "Just difficult."
He walked past me, admiring the scenery. "...Like your transition."
"My transition?" I echoed.
"Many have trouble adapting to their new surroundings after death. They refuse to admit, and the two worlds collide within them. They can't handle the change on their own."
"So they have guides?" I asked.
He nodded, smiling to himself.
I paused, watching him curiously.
"Is it possible to remain in contact with the other world?" I asked him. "Once someone has made the transition?"
My father glanced at the boat. "It's possible."
"How?"
"We can make visitations. To go down and see a living individual, even speak to them under the right circumstances. For those of us who can't make the transition, there is also the option of starting over again. Returning to Middle Earth to be born again."
"It's possible to never make the complete transition?" I asked him in awe.
He met my eye once more. "I've been up here a relatively short time, Deagol, but I've seen my fair share of transitions." He looked back at me, smiling as if telling a joke. "I haven't seen one never make it, but I certainly haven't seen one take as long and yours."
I must have looked surprised, because he sighed and beckoned for me to walk with him. I stumbled along through the tall weeds, still shaky from my accomplishment.
"We all accept our deaths in a different fashion; some are successful within minutes. Others, hours. Some probably take even longer."
"A day."
"Yes."
I looked over at him, becoming interested in the conversation. "But what determines how long, Captain?"
He glanced down at his feet as he walked. "Usually, the circumstances of one's death." We met eyes. "A one-hundred-year-old hobbit will have a much easier time accepting his fate than a thirty-two-year-old one who's been murdered."
The look of curiosity left my eyes, and I stared down at the ground before me.
And stopped.
My father paused, watching me. "What is it?"
"...There's tracks," I said, puzzled, gazing at the trail of flattened grass leading to the water.
I began to follow them. "Who's tracks are these?"
"I don't know," the Captain said. "You were the one who put them here."
"They look like a hobbit's," I mused, stopping at the edge of the bank. I looked out at the water, trying to follow a mental line. Slowly, I raised my eyes to the opposite shore...
From across the lake, the creature shrieked, startled, and leapt away from the water's edge.
"No, wait!" I shouted, and sprang forward, splashing knee-deep into the water. The creature darted into the trees, disappearing from sight.
It was frog-like, hunching over on all fours as it had crouched on the bank. It had been pale grey in color, with large, ogling eyes that flared in terror as I came towards it.
My father reached out quickly, stopping me.
"Deagol, wait!" he shouted, pulling me back. "Let it go."
I fell back in the tall grass, sitting up to squint across the water. The opposite bank was empty now; the creature was nowhere to be seen.
"What was that thing?" I asked, catching my breath.
"I'm not sure. It might have been a figment; something you thought up long ago. Possibly something from a dream."
"But I've never seen it before in my life."
"Just because you forget a dream doesn't mean you never had it."
I hesitated, then shook my head. "I've never seen such a creature before."
He frowned and stood up straight, but made no response.
I turned to look up at him. "What is it, Captain?"
He paused for a second longer, then spoke.
"Possibly...it could be a memory of the future."
"...The future?" I asked. "You mean I won't remember it until later?"
"No; it won't happen until later.'
Again, I looked puzzled. "But...but how am I seeing it now? Has this ever happened to anyone else before?"
"Occasionally, or so I've been told," he said. "It's another type of connection with the old world. An individual can see something in their subconscious, even before it occurs in real time."
"Why?"
My father gazed at the trees across the lake as though he were expecting the creature to come back out. "It's tied to them emotionally."
He tilted his head to the side slightly, still watching the bushes.
"...There's something about that creature that causes you to feel a certain emotion. It could be joy, anger, anxiety, fear even."
"But I won't understand until later," I finished.
"Possibly. But most likely, you never will."
I remained seated in the grass, allowing this to sink in, then turned back to look at the opposite shore as well. Soon, I too found myself waiting for the smooth, grey head to emerge from the shadows.
But of course, it never did.
What Dreams May Come
"Amazing, isn't it?" my father asked. I turned to meet his eye in
surprise as he emerged from the trees, the look on his face showing
his awe.
"It's incredible," I said, gazing back at the tiny boat. "...I can't believe I actually did it."
"Nothing's impossible," he said. "Just difficult."
He walked past me, admiring the scenery. "...Like your transition."
"My transition?" I echoed.
"Many have trouble adapting to their new surroundings after death. They refuse to admit, and the two worlds collide within them. They can't handle the change on their own."
"So they have guides?" I asked.
He nodded, smiling to himself.
I paused, watching him curiously.
"Is it possible to remain in contact with the other world?" I asked him. "Once someone has made the transition?"
My father glanced at the boat. "It's possible."
"How?"
"We can make visitations. To go down and see a living individual, even speak to them under the right circumstances. For those of us who can't make the transition, there is also the option of starting over again. Returning to Middle Earth to be born again."
"It's possible to never make the complete transition?" I asked him in awe.
He met my eye once more. "I've been up here a relatively short time, Deagol, but I've seen my fair share of transitions." He looked back at me, smiling as if telling a joke. "I haven't seen one never make it, but I certainly haven't seen one take as long and yours."
I must have looked surprised, because he sighed and beckoned for me to walk with him. I stumbled along through the tall weeds, still shaky from my accomplishment.
"We all accept our deaths in a different fashion; some are successful within minutes. Others, hours. Some probably take even longer."
"A day."
"Yes."
I looked over at him, becoming interested in the conversation. "But what determines how long, Captain?"
He glanced down at his feet as he walked. "Usually, the circumstances of one's death." We met eyes. "A one-hundred-year-old hobbit will have a much easier time accepting his fate than a thirty-two-year-old one who's been murdered."
The look of curiosity left my eyes, and I stared down at the ground before me.
And stopped.
My father paused, watching me. "What is it?"
"...There's tracks," I said, puzzled, gazing at the trail of flattened grass leading to the water.
I began to follow them. "Who's tracks are these?"
"I don't know," the Captain said. "You were the one who put them here."
"They look like a hobbit's," I mused, stopping at the edge of the bank. I looked out at the water, trying to follow a mental line. Slowly, I raised my eyes to the opposite shore...
From across the lake, the creature shrieked, startled, and leapt away from the water's edge.
"No, wait!" I shouted, and sprang forward, splashing knee-deep into the water. The creature darted into the trees, disappearing from sight.
It was frog-like, hunching over on all fours as it had crouched on the bank. It had been pale grey in color, with large, ogling eyes that flared in terror as I came towards it.
My father reached out quickly, stopping me.
"Deagol, wait!" he shouted, pulling me back. "Let it go."
I fell back in the tall grass, sitting up to squint across the water. The opposite bank was empty now; the creature was nowhere to be seen.
"What was that thing?" I asked, catching my breath.
"I'm not sure. It might have been a figment; something you thought up long ago. Possibly something from a dream."
"But I've never seen it before in my life."
"Just because you forget a dream doesn't mean you never had it."
I hesitated, then shook my head. "I've never seen such a creature before."
He frowned and stood up straight, but made no response.
I turned to look up at him. "What is it, Captain?"
He paused for a second longer, then spoke.
"Possibly...it could be a memory of the future."
"...The future?" I asked. "You mean I won't remember it until later?"
"No; it won't happen until later.'
Again, I looked puzzled. "But...but how am I seeing it now? Has this ever happened to anyone else before?"
"Occasionally, or so I've been told," he said. "It's another type of connection with the old world. An individual can see something in their subconscious, even before it occurs in real time."
"Why?"
My father gazed at the trees across the lake as though he were expecting the creature to come back out. "It's tied to them emotionally."
He tilted his head to the side slightly, still watching the bushes.
"...There's something about that creature that causes you to feel a certain emotion. It could be joy, anger, anxiety, fear even."
"But I won't understand until later," I finished.
"Possibly. But most likely, you never will."
I remained seated in the grass, allowing this to sink in, then turned back to look at the opposite shore as well. Soon, I too found myself waiting for the smooth, grey head to emerge from the shadows.
But of course, it never did.
