Fantasia

1

Eddy -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Again that dream. 

The red button that I can't quite reach, squatting like a toadstool in the white nothing. It lurks, unmoving yet having so much presence, filling up the room to an extent that I struggle to breathe. And the silence, that is not really silence. Not a thing moves, even the air seems still. But far away, there's a ticking noise. Oh so quiet, but oh so unsettling. 

And I keep on seeing someone in a black suit, with their head angled towards the floor, but the edges are blurred and never seem to focus. Their body language looks defeated, sorrowful. But they're always just too far away to reach. I will, every time, with every tensed muscle in my body, for that head to look up, for those eyes to lock on to mine, just to see who they are. But I am denied that luxury. 

After that, a large, plain clock, but something is off about it. There's 20 hours on it, so if it went round twice... the day would have... 40 hours? The ticking comes from there, and it never stops. The clock is not showy, but it still has such an aura in the room, it makes my chest tight. God, my dreams are weird. I should stop drinking coffee before bed.

Then, for some unexplained reason, my brain cooks up an image of a violin, shining in a non-existent blazing white light. It slowly revolves, turning in the air. Before the face can be revealed, the next image appears.

A beautiful, perfect, yet also imperfect pink flower just explodes and the petals jump out at me, scattering into the abyss, framed by an inky endless black.

And then I wake up. 

For some reason, although nothing in that dream is particularly threatening, I always find my heart is beating faster and my chest heaves. It puzzles me. It really does.

I've always been organised. Rational. Logical. That's why I'm a salaryman. Couldn't be anything else. Or so my parents have insisted for years. This dream doesn't make sense. Me, a man of order, and instruction, and predictability. And monotony. A man like me doesn't have weird dreams. It just never happens.

So, I find myself opening my laptop at 4 am, searching up the things in my dream. The laptop light illuminates my strained expression, and my hands that are trying not to shake. 

Now, I don't believe in signs from the heavens and astrology and suchlike, but I need to know why. Yes, I hear you, I'm a bit of a control freak. But that suits my job.

A red button apparently means you're refusing to accept some repressed aspect of yourself. The flower, which as no gardener, I guess is a carnation, means commitment and gratitude. The clock, I believe, is just some philosophical stuff about time running out I guess. Now if that isn't random I don't know what is. 

But it's not the first time I've had this dream. It's been plagueing me for months. Months. Why won't it go away?

I look at the clock. The real one, thankfully. The red analogue numbers cast a relaxing, calm glow over my empty bedroom. 5:15am. I'm late for my morning jog. Here we go again.