Dreamland #2- Twisted Mind

Chapter 1

Sometimes it's hard to get up, not because I didn't get enough sleep, but because my dreams are more exciting than what I have planned for the day. Does that mean my life sucks? Does that mean I'm depressed? Possibly. Either that or my dreams are abstractly exciting. For the sake of focusing on the positive let’s go with the latter. Last night's dream ranks up there on the otherworldly like list. I once considered this type of dream a nightmare for a couple of reasons. #1-A scene from one of the most well-known movies of all time- The Wizard Of OZ. No, not because of the wicked witch of the west or her flying monkeys. It was the damn tornado. I fear them. I grew up in Murphysboro, IL, a town wrecked by the deadliest tornado of all time, the 1925 Tri-state twister that killed nearly 700 people. Almost a third of those people died in my home town. It was the hardest hit area. I was always the first one to head downstairs when there were warnings and it started getting a little windy. From middle school on, my bedroom was in the basement. I can't quite remember, but fearing tornadoes may have been one of the main reasons I moved my room downstairs. Sounds good. Let's go with that. Memory created. One thing I know for sure, if I ever moved back to Murphy and got my own house, it would have a basement. 

With all that said, I still wouldn't mind seeing one. I've always wanted to- you know, like far off in the distant going the opposite direction. I'll likely have to settle for the ones in my dreams. Close enough and good enough for me. Thanks to my ability to lucid dream I no longer fear the twisters inside my head, my twisted mind.

The tunnel comes quick tonight. I’m asleep before I realize it. Before too long, I’m in an old town. I can neither see nor feel any other part of the town except the shopping center I’m at. I feel the shape of a square. It’s like I’m playing one of those SIM’s games or Roller Coaster Tycoon and I haven’t advanced far enough to have a bigger space. I’m boxed in this place, but it’s ok. I’m not claustrophobic- besides there is plenty of room, lots of stores: five in front of me to the north. I don’t recall any of the store names. It sort of feels like they are not really stores, more like it is the set of a western movie where only the fronts are done and not the inside. Is it all a façade? Is life? I don’t see anyone inside. I see nothing, but perhaps that’s because I don’t look long. I don’t have the chance to. I sense there is trouble on the horizon. A storm is brewing. I turn to focus on it. Time shifts. I shift. I’m no longer on the concrete porches of the strip mall, I’m standing in the parking lot. I try to figure out how I got there. One moment, I'm  within touching distance of the stores, the next, I’m two hundred feet away. I’m unable to wonder long. I hear them coming. At first, I’m hoping when I turn around it will be a train, but I know it's not. There are tornadoes everywhere! They are all within fifty feet of one another. There’s no less than twenty of them and they are all coming from one single cloud. Is it even a cloud? The top of it doesn’t look real. I can’t look long. It causes me pain, like staring at the sun. That’s not plausible. The cloud is dark and full of terror. I know I should run. My first instinct is to jet straight back towards the stores and try to find the safest spot possible to hide. I feel like I would be safe there because it doesn’t feel like the tornadoes are moving in that direction. Which direction are they going? Are they even moving at all? They are undoubtedly spinning, but it's as if they are staying in place. I know I’ll be good inside. I’m gonna go for it. I’m stopped in my tracks. It’s a truck. 

“Get in,” A man says sounding like he’s just left a hootenanny. He’s wearing overalls and he’s driving my old striped Chevy truck, the first vehicle I ever had. I wrecked it into a telephone pole and dented it running late for work one time. I’m surprised I’ve never dreamed of that. There’s no dent now, and in fact the colors aren’t even the same, but somehow, it’s still my truck. I don’t question the guy on how he got it. It never crosses my mind. It was his, but it was mine. Somehow it made sense. There's no time for banter.