This really happened.
I dream that I emerge at a crossroads somewhere, a depression in a forest where one road diverges into five. Each road is in varying states of disrepair and all have been fenced off, but the fences have been trampled. I can move over them easily. I choose a road on my left which is actually a railroad but which for some reason turns into a road and move from the trees into a battered back alley, and then a depressed part of a city. There are skyscrapers in the distance. Where I am, however, is half full of old architecture, with stretches of asphalt covering all of the other buildings that have been knocked down.
For some reason, I run into Harold Wilson, former British Prime Minister. I’ve never met Mr. Wilson; I don’t know what he looks like, but I know that it’s him. He’s probably about to announce some great revitalization campaign that’s going to resurrect this dead neighbourhood.
Then I wake up.
I wake up into a place where people have been monitoring my dreams. They have a map of the crossroads and the roads leading from it. They form complicated, labrynthian patterns. These people are concerned because the patterns shouldn’t be followed. If I were to go back and follow the other roads, disaster will strike.
I’m about to fall asleep again, and a small voice calls to me, drawing me to the crossroads. I refuse. That small voice insists, the influence becomes dark, malevolent. I grow afraid. I shout and I call, “help! help! Somebody wake me up! Somebody wake me up!” And I wake up, through the dream-monitoring dream into my bedroom. Erin isn’t here. I’ve obviously moved because I was snoring or something, but she’s heard me shouting. My parents are in another room. I’m consoled about my nightmare, and I go back to sleep.
Then I wake up again, for real this time, and I sit down and write this post.
Erin is on a writing roll of her own, having written 2000 words for her fairytale Plain Kate. For a poet, that’s a lot of words.
She’s posted her first chapter over here and is looking for feedback. I recommend going over there and giving her some. It’s a good story and I, for one, want to see what happens next.