The eyeballs moved frantically inside the eyelids. The breathing became shallow. The heart raced as the ears caught the noise of dogs viciously fighting. Not quite thinking, half asleep, he jumped out of bed, opened the door violently. Eyes wide open searched for his two precious dogs, where they were fighting.
He found them. The yellow one, around fifteen kilos, and the black one, around twenty kilos. They came to him, shaking their tails blissfully. John went to his knees fussing their fur as both dogs licked and caressed him. A smile crept instantly in his lips, although his heart was still racing and the question mark above his head could be very well visible, like in cartoons. These dogs were not fighting at all.
The smile on his lips turned into a nervous laugh. It was probably a dream. He got up and returned into the bedroom to check the wristwatch he had left above the bedside table. The hour was set 7:10 am. Only 20 minutes before the mobile was set to ring for him to start getting ready to work. There was no point in going back to sleep now.
John grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom for a shower. The strange event had made him wary, he had the odd feeling of being somewhere between sleeping and awake. It was Friday, and work got hectic nearing the weekend. He was a salesman in a shopping mall.
He took no notice of the shower, only realized he had been in there when standing outside the box soaking wet. He dried himself paying a little bit more attention, but something in his left hand caught his attention. A small wound in the middle finger. There was no blood, just got skinned, as if it was unintentionally bitten.
His breath was caught for a moment as John fixed his eyes on his finger, wondering how was this possible. ‘What, did I bump into ghost dogs fighting each other? A hellhound?’ Then a more logical thought popped into his train of thought: ‘It was probably the door knob.’
After putting on some clothes and breaking his fast, John gave his dogs their food and left the house. He hopped on his bike and off he went to work. The day was uneventful, nothing out of the ordinary came at John’s way. But the thought, and the sensation on his finger kept bringing him back to the morning happening. It was obvious he had wounded himself while frantically opening the door, it was the only thing that made sense. And the noise of dogs fighting… John put it down to a dream, no question. Besides, remembering that screeching, he knew now, consciously, that it couldn’t be his dogs. He knew them, he knew the noises they made - and even their fighting noise. Those two were John’s family ever since he found them stray on the streets and brought them home. He knew them, and that noise… that odd, disturbing noise, just was not them.
He was invited to a happy hour after his shift was done, but John refused. He wanted to be with his dogs, check on them, even if for a silly reason. Plus, his mind was not in it, he wouldn’t be a good company. Back home he went, on his bike it took about only fifteen minutes.
It was exactly 01:06 am when John was set to sleep. He put the book he was reading aside, turned off the lamp on the bedside table and turned around, laying on his stomach. A sight left his lips, making him realize how tense he had been. And tired. Enough of dwelling on the stranger of things on heaven and earth than are dreamt in our philosophy. With that saying out of a Shakespeare writing, John fell into a sleep.
He was flying. Oh, how good it felt. He could see all the known places, places he passed by on a daily basis, down there, tiny little things. The huge lake on the park now looked no more than a pond. The few people jogging in this sunny morning, no more than ants in his eyes.
His eyes spotted the McDonalds just in front of the park. It was a huge store, opened 24 hours on the weekend - including Friday. It was on fire. The flames took over the place, but from John’s point of view it was nothing more than a match lighted. It was sad, so sad. But there was nothing he could do, so John put the thought aside and got back to enjoying his flying.
Oh, the freeing feeling, the chilly morning wind on his face, the hair, although shortish, flowing. John closed his eyes to the sensation. Through closed eyes, he noticed a shadow above, and very soon opened them to see the reason. Never ever in his wildest dreams John could have imagined that. ‘Well, this is a dream. I suppose my mind do can think of that. And I’m curious to what comes next.’. That was just partially true. John did want to know what happened next, but nonetheless, he started to ‘swim’ away from the enormous spaceship above his head, into the earth. He tried, yes, but did not go far. He realize he was being beamed up on a sort of anti gravity field. ‘How did I come up with that? I may be watching too much Star Trek and Doctor Who.’ Then everything went dark.
The next thing John knew, he was floating. Dressed in a white robe, all he saw around himself was white, bright white. A room, maybe? He was floating, probably near the ceiling, the walls around only a deep white, he could not tell the distance. Right below, he could see something. Something a different shade of white. ‘How am I supposed to get down there?’ John was beyond trying to figure out what was going on at this point - he just went with the flow. He was not feeling fearful nor nervous. Curiosity and that strange feeling of safeness when one is aware that this is a dream were the main sensations for John.
He swam. The same way he tried to when he spotted the spaceship above him. A little less hectic, and this time he actually moved. It was an odd feeling of being swimming through air… it was different than flying. So he dove.
When John approached the other white thing, he could start to perceive what it was. A bed - or a stretcher - white sheets and a person lying there, unawake. He was wearing a white robe. The goatee beard, the wet hair falling backwards - John knew he was seeing himself. It took him aback. ‘Am I dead now?’
John could not say. He remained there, floating above himself in this very white room, nothing else in there but him, himself and the stretcher.
The barking of dogs woke him up. John lifted his weight and stood on elbows, searching for his wristwatch on the bedside table. 8:00 am. It was his day off, waking up at eight in the morning was the last thing he wanted. No, scratch that, having another weird night sleeping came first to not wanted things. Both useless, though. Jimmi and Janis kept breathing on the door, eventually scratching, calling out for him.
So John did as bid and stood up. On the process of wearing a t-shirt, he stopped mid-way to scratch the back of his neck. Just a light pain, like when you hit your arm and after it got purple, it started to get yellow but you feel the remains of pain. ‘Right, so now I am supposed to consider that I was abducted and have a chip on my neck!’ Shaking his head, he let it go, put some sleepers on and went to greet his dogs outside the bedroom.
The newspaper had not been delivered, so John opted for turning the TV on for some news while he took breakfast. The cup of coffee was halfway towards his mouth, but John could not sip it, either put the cup down. His hand started to shake, his eyes wide and his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He saw the fire in the images television was showing. McDonalds in front of the park was gone, just as he had seen when flying. Realization too over him. ‘What the f...’
The End
