Apocalypse

I dreamt of the apocalypse last night . It was one of those dreams I never wanted to wake from. I remember being carried up a hill, thrown over a man’s shoulder. I don’t recall who he was, what he looked like, but I did get a strange vibe from him- the feeling that he was neither friend nor foe. This is the only time in my dream at which I could express any logic at all, as I asked:

“Are you sure we should be here? Isn’t it more dangerous on higher ground?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling. Smiling, because he knew something I did not. As we broke out of the forestry onto the peak of the hill, I saw what made him act in such a way. This hill overlooked the city from whence we came, my home, so I could see just what was happening.

And my God, it was beautiful. I don’t understand quite why I thought this.

Let me describe the scene to you: A prosperous city at night; all is dark save from the light scattering of street lamps and car headlines. From where you stand, they’re so tiny, you can hardly even be sure they’re real. It’s the faint glow around the city which comes from them being so many in number which assures you that there are actually people living in there. However, this won’t be so for long. Distantly, you hear the drone of an aeroplane, and then- a muffled explosion. The once tranquil city is shaken as a bomb lands and blows away someone’s life. It light is so much brighter than all the city’s light were before…

Now, imagine that, but with more planes. More bombs. More explosions. More lives destroyed. That is what I saw in my dream. One explosion- a mushroom shaped cloud towers over the east section of the city. Two explosions- a bright light blinded me momentarily, after I had the misfortune of looking at the very spot where the next bomb was to land. Three explosions, four, five…it was a glorious fireworks display, one of beauty, one of power. Of course, it wasn’t quite so perfect down there. I knew this, as it was where I had begun, ay the birth of my dream. Amidst the chaos, the fire and the blood. It was only through the strange workings of the dream that I had suddenly ended up here, standing on an untouched hill, in a peaceful environment when all around me the world was ending. The man walked on, and from my position on his shoulder I watched my city being ripped to pieces, until we disappeared under a canopy of trees and I could see it no longer.

In a dream, the oddest things turn up in the most unlikely of places. That is why, I suppose, the man put me down in front of a small, weathered tent the base of a large oak tree. It didn’t seem odd at all at the time, of course. You never stop to wonder such things when you’re dreaming. All I knew is that I had to enter the tent. So I pulled back the flap and stepped into a space which was far larger than should have been possible. I looked around; there was a makeshift bedroom to my left, clothes strewn over a mattress below shelves of photo frames. I couldn’t tell you what pictures were in them, of course… I have the strangest feeling, actually, that they were all empty. In the main area of the tent sat my best friend. She didn’t look like she does now. Her hair was long and black again, instead of bleached at the front and cut short at the back. I guess when I think of her, I must still picture her like that, subconsciously. She looked up at me as I approached, and gave me a small smile, containing no emotion at all- it was merely there to serve as a welcome. I got the sense that she wouldn’t speak to me until I spoke to her… but I couldn’t make a sound. So, I sat down next to her, and thought for a while. It didn’t occur to me till just now how strange a thing that is to do in a dream- usually, one is always on the move, in a kaleidoscope of sounds and colours, of emotions and people. There isn’t the time to sit and wonder in a dream. But I did then. I sat, and wondered why I wasn’t sad the world was coming to an end. Why wasn’t I afraid? Surely that’s what you should feel in the face of an immanent death? ‘At least I won’t have to leave anyone behind’ is the one thought which resounds most strongly in my mind as I recall the dream now.

A strange tingling in my throat told me I could speak. I can’t work out how I recognised this a the signal that I was ready for conversation, but I voiced my thoughts to my friend anyway. It should have been a sad conversation, but all I felt was calm. The atmosphere was so serene… there was no sound save for that of my own voice. The wind was still, there were no birds, no animals. We sat perfectly still so there was no rustling of clothes.

Now, my words during this conversation are a unknown still to me. No amount of remembering could possibly reveal these few details to me, as dreams must keep some secrets from us, lest they loose their mystery. Somehow, though, after we have spoken our final words, my mind travels where my body can not. As death finally finds me and steals me away from my refuge in the hills, I am back in the city. Strangers cling to each other for comfort in the chaos, having no one else to turn to. A woman, dead, still clings to her phone with a number not quite typed in- out of nowhere I realise that she wanted to contact her mother, to express a last few words of love. Death caught her before she could do so. My last thought before I was pulled from my dream was that it was slightly upsetting how it had taken the apocalypse to get her, and the rest of the world, to stop hating.

I’m not sure why this dream has remained so clearly in my mind, when I’m sure you know very well how dreams have the tendency to fade within seconds of waking up.

Maybe it’s because of the strange lack of emotion I felt in the duration, when it’s nature was so distressing.

Or maybe it’s because last night was the first time I can ever recall dreaming in colour.