Writer Unblocked

Recurring Reality

By Rachel H Grant

Bob stretched out his arms, the bed groaning as his body moved. He had dreamt of that world again, a paradise beyond the stars, a home to every new invention his mind could imagine, an intricacy of detail that his subconscious churned out night after night. Sometimes, it felt more real than his waking life.

The gardens high above the ground, steel supports lined with beautiful symbols gracefully falling to either side of silver lanes. Interactive maps within the paths, opening up when you stamp your foot, and using your foot you tap, tap and search for any destination … and then order a hovercraft to fly there.

A sun that never set in a sky of sapphire blue, alight with the heat of its rays and the harmony of the world below…

But this morning he landed back to the reality of a non-eventful, non-illustrious existence. Oh, what dreams he had had, the naive undergraduate studying history, enthusiasm for other times lighting his eyes with fire as he burned brain fuel to the small hours each morning. He would teach, he would inspire teenagers, moulding their minds with new ideas, empowering them to become the world figures of the future … reality was so dull in comparison, just keeping his pupils’ attention a battle, to ignite even the smallest interest in his subject an arduous achievement. At the end of each day he returned slowly home, wondering about his worth as a teacher, what difference he actually made. Sometimes the grades were good in exams, sometimes bad, but it did not matter, this game of numbers. The students came and went, but never did he see those flames in their eyes, that quest for knowledge that had powered him through college. Their minds were mundane.

The dream receded as he showered. But it would return. Perhaps that was all he lived for now, this other world, this fantasy place alight with all his mind could muster, a hundred histories aflame in one little world that existed just for him.

The day wound a path of pain through his head, ashes of discontent settling in his soul as the unlit fires of so many disinterested children roared in his head, as if somewhere in his brain their minds had burst in to flame, sparks of genius dancing in the wind of his dreams. Reality was so less romantic.

But romance threw flames at his heart in his nightly dreams. Her name was Jasmine, a silken haired waif with eyes on fire, dancing in a sparkling dress of fiery jewels. They walked together in the gardens that hung suspended over the city, and he confided in her all the drudgery of his real life. “But it’s not real!” she laughed. “This, here, now, is all you need.”

Then she was gone in the brutal toned sunset of a new day, the sun of his other world vanishing in front of his eyes.

He slowly opened his curtains, to be confronted by a red blaze across the sky, a timid sun finally showing its true colours after a week of rain. He smiled. The real world was not so bad, it was just … a living story of the death of his dreams.

Sighing, Bob dressed for work. Perhaps there was something new he could do, some alternative teaching style, anything to reignite an interest in history. But there was that one pupil, Paul, who had recently handed in a very thorough and accurately researched essay and, yes, baby flames of enthusiasm could be seen through the carefully handwritten words. Paul was one to keep an eye on, just one child, one spark of something special: that would make everything else worthwhile.

The day’s usual charcoal colour was brightened by Paul, his smile lighting his eyes with an inner curiosity. Bob felt the flames of excitement rekindle in his chest. What this pupil could be … the difference he, as teacher, could make, fanning the fires of intellect. Suddenly he remembered his youthful dreams, his yearning to be a teacher, his life to touch so many souls … and now here he was, making an impact on just the one, but that one worth it all.

That night, as he lay in bed, he allowed himself to dream of what Paul would do. Go to university, perhaps even to study history, a first class honours student. At Paul’s age, he could dream any dream, and still be young enough to achieve it. But, with bitterness, Bob reminded himself that Paul’s dreams belonged to Paul alone – they were not Bob’s to change.

His thoughts blurred in to an inner sunrise of joyous colour, a painter’s palette in the rain, colours running in to each other with avid abandon. Bob opened his eyes. He was in his bed in that other world, a hammock in an inside garden, plants resembling cacti stretching as high as the long windows, and a tiny fountain with its mesmerising music, a lullaby for a bedroom.

Slowly he descended, to join Jasmine where she ate fruit on their patio: pinks, purples and yellows happily married on her plate, a sunset for the appetite. “How were your dreams?” she murmured.

“Work is the same, apart from this one boy, Paul. Suddenly it is all worth it.”

“Is it really? Paul sounds like a metaphor of yourself, as you would have liked to be, as a young boy. But you have done so well. So what, that your historical novels of another world were never published, you have a fiery career, you are head teacher of the top school in the city! And it is time for these nightmares to stop. There is a solution.”

“There is?” Even though he knew he was dreaming, her words made so much sense. To stop a nightmare … from within a dream of paradise.

“This little yellow pill.” Jasmine offered it to him, smiling like the sun. “One a day. You’ll sleep, but you will not dream. I’ve secretly been taking it for years, ever since those horrible dreams about losing a baby. His name was Paul, my dream child … I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to upset you with my nightmares, but I fixed it myself. And now you will too.”

Paul looked out on a silver city kissed by radiant sunlight, pinks and oranges reflected in stained glass windows, birds singing to celebrate the new day. Slowly he took the pill.

That night, the hammock hissed as his body moved, but his mind was at peace. No more dreams.

In a far off world, a boy called Paul dreamed of the parents he never had, moving restlessly in his sleep. Then he was still, reality rearranging itself around him.

And in his dream, the sun began to rise, a dawn of red, orange and pink that set fire to his mind, freeing it forever.