No death, no dreams

What really happened...

 

ZZzztttt..snap, snap, zzzZZZZttTTT….pop, ZZtt,……

 

My first thoughts, in this confusion, this….- uncertainty, the pain, was….. did we lose? I was waking up from unconsciousness and I could barely make it up from the ground. Not only because on of my legs had shattered bones, but also, the floors, covered with blood, bodies, shards of metal and wires. The control room was destroyed. There were many dead bodies. Aside from the popping sounds of electricity spewing from circuits, there was an eerie hush. The horrible smell of seared, burnt hair. Through this terror, I maintained and still wondered, did we lose it? I gathered myself up, as best as I could. My uniform was crisped. There was blood on me, but I could not tell who’s it was. The pain was mine however. I screamed as I pulled myself up with help from the wall. I unknowingly smeared the sprays of blood on the wall as I attempted to make it to my feet. I caught my breath. One of the wires than came swinging out from the ceiling, narrowly missing me as it hissed passed my face and landed on a dead body. The little life that body had, now was completely gone. It crackled and snapped and seemed to dance slightly as the live wire flailed about on top of the corpse. I made my way upright, careful, but certain.

 

The constant still in my head -have we won?

 

We were the last hope - located nearly 200 feet below ground underneath the sand of death valley. We were certainly the last hope, I kept thinking. Limping, in pain, I made my way to the central control room. The door had a sign, now hanging on by one frail nail and read ‘authorized personnel only’. It was wide open, but had definite signs of being forced open. Frantically I tried to see if they had made it to the central nervous system. I was able to climb successfully over their bodies as I headed toward the once highly guarded restricted area. Lights flickered... The guards protecting the door had been unmistakably retired. Both of their faces were now lumps of grey, red and white matter, completely unrecognizable. In a brief moment of uncertainty, I noticed that the nerve center of our operation was destroyed. What has come to inevitably kill us all, has destroyed the one thing that has kept that sanity of the world. The one thing that has held peoples expressions, there most inner dreams, desires, lusts, and their search for truth, was gone. I stood over the main board, as it hissed at me, and snarled its ugly burnt melted metal face at me, then it sputtered one more time, than died. The monitor flashed the words I had never thought would be seen. I thought to myself ‘kill us, kill yourselves, but why kill these dreams?’ Blinking a constant beat on the screen was - ‘All writings have been deleted’, ‘All writings have been deleted’, ‘All writings have been deleted’. The was a day that would go down in infamy here at the writerscafe control room. We gave our lives to protect these cherished writings, works of art, poetry and books. I collapsed in pain and disbelief. We had failed them. We did everything we could, but, we failed them. They all trusted us. And we held their dreams in our hands, and now….all gone. I was feeling tired…

 

I awoke in the spot of a brilliant light. Nothing around but a solitary bright light shining down from above. No longer in pain, I saw a man in the distance. His figured grew clearer. He seemed familiar to me, although I knew that I had never met him before. He wore an straw derby, with a feather tucked in the collar of the hat. His attire was that of a man in the late 1800’s. Where had I known him from? As he made his way, leaves and grass blew all around. It was warm, silent. He wore a full beard that hung a few inches from his chin. It was Walt Whitman. He greeted me with a smirk, then a smile.  “Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed” he said. Amazed, this presence, an icon of literature, both past and present, now stood before me. He asked me- “Have you accepted reality?”

“Accepted? Accepted death? Destruction? Loss?” I stated.

“Dare not question reality, it is the very essence that gives us permission to question.”

“But all the writings, they are gone!”

“The dreams are in itself the writings, as long the man believes as such.”

“....There were books, screenplays, poems!”

“And they still exist, the very flesh of man is that of a poem.”

I stood, bewildered as a wave of grace came across me. He then disappeared into a beautiful meadow, just as the sun was setting.

 

The sound of violins, trumpets, and orchestral music then greeted me as I came out of the haze. There was no pain. I gazed below at the control room of the café, where dreams and desires brood. There was no more death. Life had been restored. Inspiration now free of harm had feathered down from the chaos. Serenity and peace held me. I was able to create. The many artist were free now to trust in me, their muse, and hold their faith in their creativity, because the dreams, the inspirations can never be deleted.

Author's Note

Inspired of course, by the famous "Deleted writings" incident of 2008

Reviews

I love this part:
"There was blood on me, but I could not tell who's it was. The pain was mine however."and it's great how you can take on the troubles of others- some wouldn't dare to do that- and you've shown how real, vivid and important writing is to you because you haave done this as though in some sort of war- well done :) xx

[Damien Dsoul]

That certainly feels like an inspired peice, and I certainly love your approach on the subject. For a moment back there, when I started reading through the story, I felt as if I was transported in time to a war front (it sure felt like it), all the emotion and destruction rang through. Very challenging and excellent work.