Dream Catcher

Chapter 6

Have you ever found yourself unable to wake up, yet a part of you sees everything happening around you during this struggle? Have you ever been awake and all of a sudden you started to drift into what seemed like a forced trance or sleep you resist to no avail? The deistic believers say, your soul leaves the body and wanders around. They are two parts of you. It lifts itself and returns to its vessel to complete you. Ruben found the idea of the soul leaving the body or for a fact the soul and body being parts of a person absolutely ridiculous. But somewhere deep down, a part of him felt shivers with the idea of it. The idea of losing your soul. The idea of your soul forgetting to retreat. The thought of where it went. The thought of what it did.

The churchly fanatics got spooked by the idea of this and netted to the easier and most evidently experienced explanation. When the sleeper wakes, he or she comes up by degrees, from deep sleep to light sleep. But this process rarely is skipped. Skipped with the terrifying sensation of falling from grave height into the body with unimaginable speed jolting he/she up into wakefulness. This could be the unmistakable confirmation to the belief curdled their blood. Since any kind of intuition or falsehood spewed them more than physical evidence. This solid clincher made them permute this into, the angels carried your soul on their way to heaven, while one of them got too clumsy and you slipped off their lucky arms back into your chest. When they questioned with fresh fear about why God wouldn't wish to have them in heaven, they simply replied, God decided it wasn't your time.

Ruben condemned such outlandish cult claims until he felt it. And his soul softened. He almost let himself believe it.

Ruben heard the chink and splitting of veiny flesh, but gradually this sound became sharper, more plastic. There was a bang. A horrific flipping on stone. More plastic sounds ... something rolling? Yes, his now rootless mind agreed. Sludge away from dey gutter goblins. His half conscious mind made up a

He heard his little suckling let lose of her pacifier, numbingly letting it fall. Too focused on this little milk bottle she bashed on the floor with force she didn't know she had.

Ruben could only move the tips of his fingers, and so he did. Marci took notice and crow in the thrill, watching the dead person in the room show some kind of potency. Ruben didn't think of opening his eyes before he could make sure his body moved. With no such inkling his focus was the mobility of his limbs. They felt as if his bone was stuffed with sand, as if his veins carried grains. He struggled with a low, hunggg which he didn't understand how he managed to sound when he couldn't do a thing as normal as move.

His efforts only worked in his throat and in his experession. His expression. Ruben's drifting mind realised that he could indeed open his eye. Open his eyes to see what held him down. Somewhere inside he hoped it wasn't something he didn't want to see. It wasn't something Marci has been looking at all this time. He fluttered his eyes open, they too, tussled under the gravity. Ruben caught a lethargic glimpse of his sturdy little baby's body, clad only in diapers and unmatched socks. She began to yell indignantly. Althought is was scrambled - the only clear words being goo goo gaa gaa. She violently shook the cot, holding onto its safety holder and dipped in her loaded diaper, propping herself with force hoping to somehow breakthrough. Ruben's vision was extremely stained and before the panic started to sieze through him, he recollected himself and tried to figure out what he could really move. If you find a cut in the orange skin, you can peel it smoothly. He could feel all his innerds, his heart pumping through his veins, his flesh crawling around them, his stomach vollyballing mild gases and the warmth his body held to put these together. Distant light footsteps hitched and grew closer. Almost as if they could even have been fragments of his aplified imagination. Ruben's eye fell on Marci again. He was gullibly calling her for help, with slow words croaking in his throat. When will my soul return?