Dawn Dreams

Some hegemonic belief, or some even wiser author's philosophy must have let people to believe that dawn dreams come true. Sorry, they 'do' come true, that is how the belief runs. As the narrator of this story, I will first confess, that, even though I do not exactly 'believe' believe, I do find them disturbing. No, interesting. The what-ifs and what-thens have always been a cause of concern. This is Isaac's story. A young, football loving and playing boy of about eighteen. Needless to stress, his built was sculpted, and he did have it in him, the 'sporting' attitude, more aptly put as 'sportsmanship'. Isaac came from a well-to-do family, studied in the best boy's school in the city and was currently a student of yet another leading college of the same city. In continuation, he graduated from playing from inter-school, to inter-collegiate matches and his name was doing the rounds for being one to be selected for the state-level under-nineteen team. Now, as we all know, like cricket, football has its idols too, and our Isaac was a fan of the Messi-Ronaldo competition. Often, he was made fun of, for liking both styles. How can that be as criminal as they show it to be? he thought.

These days, Isaac was coached to assist, and in doing so, he helped win his team more than when he would have striked. In a week, the results of the final selection were to be out. Meanwhile, the college authorities were happy to grant him all kinds of help. He knew his friends would rattle behind him, about his family's connections. This was how he grew up, and got used to. These days though, Isaac was not getting his athlete's sleep, one that churns in the tired muscles into a fantasy unwinding, relaxed deep sleep. The bed would call out to him, even as his PSP would be left running midway, and he would go off to sleep. He was privileged, you could say. But the dreams he had in the mornings were chaotic enough to will him out of his tiredness into a shocking awakening.

There he was, just about to pass the ball to Sid when there was a flash flood. 

There he was, just about to strike when the goalkeeper would smile out of his eyes, "Daddy's son? Come, score!"

There he was, riding a horse, and it would, on its own volition take him to an El-Classico, and he wouldn't know what to do about getting Messi's autograph while Ronaldo was drinking beer alongside him.

There he was, flying on a carpet, his palatial house on fire, and the flames not high enough to catch him.

There he was, enjoying a date with Christine and the ambience would change into a hostel, he was being announced to take a bath, while he didn't know where to grope for clothes.

There he was, kissing Christine, and his teeth would break off, one after the other, not bleeding, but breaking in bits. 

There he was, in his grandfather's chair, listening to music when a policeman came up from behind and charged his family for debt against the state.

There he was, saving himself from a massive earthquake, and crying that his ticket to the El-Classico was deep in the rubble too.

There he was, a champion swimmer, who had to ampute his leg because of an accident while his car crashed as they celebrated the trophy. 

There he was, combing his hair, and his image smiling back at him, while he was certain he was not.

There he was.

With sweat all over him, he panicked to take his bath and proceed towards exercise, by the end of which, the dawn dreams would be over. He couldn't care less if they would/not come true. 

If only my name was Isaac, and not Dawn, thought Dawn. Where I was, I would atleast live one dream completely and not wake up!

Damn Isaac for waking up, and not allowing me to finish the line. Where I was, he wasn't.

There he was, Dawn, in his dreams: living Isaac's. How could it not come true? There they were.  

There he was.