God of Odd

12. The Escapologist

12. The Escapologist

"I dreamed. Dreaming was what I did. Dreaming was my life and had been for many years. Dreaming enabled me to escape a life that was dull, empty and simply too lacking in sustenance to begin to imagine. But, oh what dreams I had! Every night without fail, for ten years, I had dreamed nightmares. I dreamed of nightmare worlds but these worlds enabled me to escape to an existence far better than my waking life. Many have called me mad but in my dreams, I found adventure, excitement and fear-none of which I was able to find in my waking world.

At first, my escapades to these fabulous dream places were rare but over time they became more and more frequent and eventually they were happening regularly- every night. My nightmares were excitement, a life that I could not possibly have had in the real world. So it was that nightmares became my passion, a force-fed drug that spun me into the fabulous worlds of the strange; adventures with no beginnings and no ends, challenges with no objectives and journeys with no destinations. My adventures always contained fear, excitement and, usually, evasion from all manner of adversaries. Best of all were my nightmares of being chased and these I relished. Sometimes escaping my enemy had required great effort or character, which would come to me from out of the blue-or maybe from a darker, deeper place. Sometimes escape had come from the unexpected and I always loved the surprise and the ingenuity of what I believed to be my own creative mind. On occasions, escape would come too soon and I would fruitlessly try to return to my dream adventure. When being chased the terror and anxiety of pursuit would constantly be relieved by the discovery of hidden places, places of apparent sanctuary but places in which my respite would always be short-lived because, inevitably, I would be found and then the chase would begin over again, my fear still clinging fast, my adrenalin amply refuelled for further excitement. Dreams of pursuit brought me more alive than I could ever have been in waking life. I simply could not have lived without my nightmares-they were my desire, they were what I longed for and what I lived for. The dreams flowed on with the passing years but then, suddenly, they stopped.

My last nightmare, the one before my dream life ended, took me to a familiar terrifying world that was a mix of the real and the surreal. It took me to an old world in which my mind did not seem normal and my actions were not proper. At the start of this nightmare, I recall I was ravaged with an immense anger, a frustration that had boiled over from within me, instilling me with a hatred and a wrath-a hatred of my hosts- the English!

During this dream, I was, as always, in another land and another life in which my real, waking being was unknown to me. Consequently, I was unable to recognise the significance of the events that this dream held. It was not until I awoke that the dream's memories, crying out to me, told of a new nightmare for which I would have no desire. My new nightmare would be a truly terrifying and inescapable one. My last dream began, as I have indicated, with my street ranting...

Stepping into the night with the storming strides of a mad man I left The Ship, shouting profanities and cursing the publican and all else who had drunk with me. I staggered my way through the dark seedy back streets towards the quayside still expelling my festering anger, shouting at the world and waking the neighbourhood and then the first chasing began. I had heard the mob and turned to see them march around the corner, brandishing their clubs. Someone shook a large blade at the air. I ran.

The sounds of my deep inebriated struggling breath, and of my feet hitting the hard floor, competed with the cries of my pursuers and the sounds of their jeers and their many feet hitting the hard floor. My mind saw and felt the beating, or worse, that I was to get if, in my drunken state, I could not outrun the gang.

I slipped into the first alley I came across and then immediately turned into a long dark passage which was to lead me to a dead end. Recognising my escape was blocked I swung around to see if I was still being pursued or if, perhaps, I had found a safe place of refuge. Standing alone in a dark emptiness, I listened to the sounds of the crowd- growing louder. My only exit was to scale a very high wooden fence at the end of the passage. I sprinted, I leapt and my hands gripped the top of the fence. I pulled myself up just as the first missile struck the wood panels by my side. The heavy object, probably a large stone, fell to the ground below but as I was about to swing myself up and over to the other side a second object hit my back. Just as I had managed to topple myself to drop to the other side of the fence, a heavy blade sliced into the side of my calf. I fell to the ground, fortunately on the other side of the fence but unfortunately the first of my pursuers was already at the top of the fence. As with all dreams my pain was greatly mellowed whilst my excitement was greatly enhanced-the thrill of dreaming was underway.