I Stole Your Dream

Character One wants to be named, to be known, but as the author, I do not wish to reveal anything about her, so I insist she be hereby called ‘C1’. It is an anxious day for me, for I have the heavy duty of writing something for yet another request, simple. So, I thought let me try doing the dreaming thing. As reports go, I do it rather well.

So, C1 is in an operation theatre, and hence the name which is reduced to a bed number, under medical lights, surrounded by specialists and safety. She must have also duly marked the cleanliness of the place while she was being wheeled inside. As useless information was being asked of her, the lights became fainter. She did not recall being hungry, having last had only the previous night’s dinner, and was wondering how it was possible, to sustain a human body. While such thoughts grew dimmer, so did the lights, and the last thing she felt were the whiteness of opaque masks and gloves around her. The surgery began.

She does not remember pain, she does not have fear, she is not relieved. She has transcended, by now, into a very different world. The journey took some time to arrive, but the destination was, as one would say, “Production – Tip-Top!” Yes, she found herself on a stage, set by one of the roads on the mountains, naturally lit by the angles of the sun rays. She was the solo performer of the day, and people from in, around, and even those not from the valley gathered for such a spectacle. Confident that C1 is, she did not care about traffic being held for a day, or, travel being undertaken by her followers. She was going to present a surprise to the audience, and it excited her.

The anchoring inaugurated, the music fluted in, as if the birds were choreographed to sing a song to enchant the gathering. She was dressed like a performer, and she was about to perform the performance of her life – a tale of love. As she began her moves, the peaks bloomed along, and sunshine reached the depths of her gut. She was transforming into a celebration herself, the jingle in her anklets adding to the symphony of the breeze. It was a sight to behold, she was searching for her beloved, and like in the movies, the universe seemed to be conspiring along, fragrantly. She danced, and she danced, tirelessly, endlessly, till the dawn turned to dusk and the song was melancholic. The audience never anticipated being entrapped for such duration. At the point of the end, by when love opened its arms as wide as the sky, and breathed in a happiness as pure as the air, she felt the pain with the dusk rays closing in with a darkness that enveloped her senses. But her soul was alive, and she kept dancing. Dancing, with an inexhaustible hope, dying slowly.

She was wheeled back into her room, as people dispersed knowing she would be in pain. Love often hurts, as they say. But she continued to sleep. The audience was dimming; they could not take her pain anymore. The dance had made deep cuts into her soul and a sleep was essential to revitalize her emotions. She wished for the birds to return, tried to recall the peaks and feel the breeze, but the pain would not let her be. Where is my beloved?

C1 sleeps. But she would wake up to this. Knowing, her dance was not an illusion, for she is revisiting it. Her pain elopes as she can now see the peaks, hear the birds, breathe in a dream and know where her beloved is – right in that tale of love, where immortality is uncontested. Her soul rests as her eyes dissolve like ink, back to the dream.