Scattered Dreams & Dragonflies

The figure the dog and the teacher

I found myself jogging as I opened my eyes. To my left was a dog, and we both marched onwards, our steps in sync. The dog wore a shiny red collar attached to a leash held by me. At the time, I didn't recognize the dog. He did not resemble any of my dogs; my dogs are small chihuahuas. This dog, however, was bigger. His fur was snow white, shining gently like the stars in the sky. With every step we took, the glistening of his pelt caught the corner of my eye, just like his collar. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming calmness. I could feel the peace of the night, the cold breeze striking my face and chest, waving goodbye as it passed by. I could hear the subtle sounds of the dog's charm, flailing with every coordinated trot. I felt relaxed, in total peace and quiet.

Then, to the sound of sudden explosive-like detonations, I stopped in place. My back began to feel as if doused by cold water, my knees began to shake as I looked to my side. I saw my new friend lying on the floor. The crimson red of his collar was not the only reddish hue I saw that night; the red was scattered around his beautiful cloud-like pelt. I could see the heaviness in his stomach as the dog fought to breathe. More and more blood left his body, scattering across the floor and close to my feet. At that moment, next to my new friend, I found myself falling to my knees. Not because of my worry for the dog, but because of a sudden heaviness overcoming my body. It felt like a thousand-pound weight was brought down on my back, and I found myself unable to get up.

Falling to my knees, I instinctively put one of my hands against the floor for leverage. In an attempt to feel my back, I stretched my other hand towards it, only to feel the same coldness I had felt a few moments ago. My hand, as a messenger, carried with it the same fate as my canine friend. Blood, like a crimson tide, had scattered around my back, leading me to think that we had somehow suffered the same fate.

Forgetting about myself, leaving all traces of coldness behind, with the overwhelming heaviness in my back, I crawled sluggishly towards the dog. I noticed it was still alive and breathing, but the blood continued to pour out as I looked at the wounded areas. In an attempt to cover them, I took pieces of my shirt and desperately pushed them into the wounds to try and stop the bleeding. I remember hearing the dog shriek in pain, but even if he lacked the understanding to know that I was trying to save his life, I continued. As I pushed into the wounds, I could feel the complexity of his skin change. Soon, the warmth of his delicate white fur and skin began to feel more like rubber. Pressing on the wounds became taxing as the longer I pushed, the more the skin bent inwards. In my desperation, I continued to move my hands more and more until I could find a way to stop the bleeding. I did it again and again, until suddenly, everything became dark.

My heaviness was no more, the coldness withered away. I opened my eyes to find myself at a school. This time, I recognized the building before me. It was the school of my childhood, where I studied from elementary to high school. In front of the entrance, all of my closest friends were standing, talking amongst themselves. Considering their attire, it seemed like a normal school day. I could remember the white polo shirt adorned with wine-colored lines along the sleeves and the neck. The logo of my high school stood proudly on one side, its strong dark red color contrasting with the rest of the uniform. The pants had the same wine color as the sleeves and the neck. From top to bottom, the rather hard and uncomfortable pants were bathed in a dark crimson-like red. I remembered that I enjoyed wearing gym class clothes better, but most days we were required to wear this uniform.

From a distance, I continued to look at my friends as they talked. Regardless of their discussions, which were more or less mute to my ears, I noticed that contrary to how they look today, they resembled their appearance from high school. I could remember their young faces, all of them alive and healthy, all of them now in pursuit of their dreams and goals, all lost to their own devices, doused in mundane daily tasks with a dose of raw human experience. That was everyone's life at this point. However, at this specific moment in time, we were all our younger selves, and as such, I approached my friends with a smile on my face. Now in proximity to my friends, being noticed, I proceeded to wave hello. I shook everyone's hand, but one of them received me with a strong hug. It happened so fast that I did not have time to see who it was from the group. As I stepped back, I did not see anyone separate from me after the hug, so that part was estranged from my mind.

Looking at my friends, I instinctively told them that I had been wounded. I noticed their faces slowly change to worry, prompting me to show them. As I began to turn around, showing the wounds on my back, I could feel the same familiar wet, cold sensation start up again. As I turned, I noticed my knees begin to buckle again. To the opposite side of my friends, I saw my dog yet again grasping for air, losing blood rather swiftly. In that moment, I remembered what I was doing prior to meeting my friends: I was desperately trying to stop the blood loss of my dog, but things changed, and I would never reach my canine friend.

Soon, my environment began to change yet again. My running posture, all in an attempt to reach my canine friend was frozen completely, slowly morphed into a sitting position, and just like that, I found myself sitting in a classroom. Following the previously repeated theme, I found myself in one of the many classrooms of my childhood. This time, my friends were much younger than before, probably in middle school. As if it were a typical day, all my previous worries had disappeared. The thoughts of my wounded dog were no more. The change in scenery and the age change of my friends were but a mere afterthought as I sat in the classroom in silence.

Suddenly, the teacher, whose face I could not recognize, pointed at me and then at the blackboard, as if to answer a question. Regardless of the question, and without any idea of what the teacher wanted at that time, I got up and approached the board. As I got closer, I could see squiggly lines coming from every direction of the board, slowly coming together. As I approached, they morphed subtly into what looked like a math equation. I was never a math genius; the topic always seemed to escape my skill set as I failed at many stages in life at it. However, this was not one of those times, as the barely recognizable equation was solved by me rather effortlessly

Without a chance to rest on my laurels, I looked in the direction of the teacher. I could see that half of the classroom had changed into an open desert-like landscape. In it, the teacher rode a bike. The bike rode on the desert floor and the air, alternating rather effortlessly. With every movement, elongated and shiny sparks of electricity shot in every direction at a distance.

The teacher mentioned, as he rode, that he would assess my answer to the equation. As he looked into the distance, he said that my answer would decide the following outcome. He then immediately rode full speed towards what I could determine was a car that popped out of nowhere. The car, just like the teacher on the bike, drove in direct collision with each other. Me and the classroom could only look on as the teacher rode full speed in the direction of the car. He would only be able to stop if the equation answer was correct. Both the bike and the car came closer and closer and somehow managed to stop within inches of each other. As the teacher stopped, he got off the bike, crossing over from the desert-like landscape onto the remaining half of the classroom. Giving me a rather proud smile, he shook my hand strongly, and with that, a new day had begun.