I inhaled one last deep breath and the world around me began to shift and drip like wet paint on a canvas beneath the artful strokes of a master.  The sandy beach stretched out beyond my line of sight and each grain melded with the next to form pavement beneath my feet.  The waves out on the ocean began to stand up and harden as crude monoliths before their outer shells cracked open to reveal towering skyscrapers hidden underneath; the remnants that came crashing to the ground became cars and people that hurried about as if they had purposes.

I was asleep in a scene that was all too familiar to me—a scene that painted itself before me in a way I had never seen before.  I was asleep and I knew I was dreaming; I felt comfort in that thought.  I looked around at the world in which I found myself and observed it very carefully.  I tried to pick up on the small details I never noticed before with the hope that maybe I would find something relevant.

I stood under the green awning of a hotel on the corner of Washington and 3^rd.  I scanned the area surrounding me to see if anything looked familiar beyond the confines of my recurring fantasy.  I saw the building where my office was located about three blocks south—or what I assumed to be south due to the increasing street numbers—of where I was standing.  I walked toward it.

As I made my way toward my office, I kept searching busily for the building—the one I fell from every night.  Despite the broken logic of dreams, I knew there had to be a reason I found myself on that ledge every night.  I knew there was a reason I fell.

I closed my eyes to escape from the distractions of the busy world around me and tried to remember.  The building was tall—taller than any other around it.  I was lost in a world of imagined skyscrapers and I was looking for a tall building.  Lovely, I thought.

I took a deep breath and looked to the sky; it was grey.  There was no sun and the wind started to blow heavily as rain began to fall.  This is new, I mused.  I don’t remember rain.

The sudden crack of thunder woke me from my dream’s novel alteration.  The clock beside me read “12:17.”  I had been asleep for more than an hour, which was an improvement, but I’m sure it could have been even better without Lucidity’s soothing sounds of thunder.

Day 2—Wednesday:

I lay in bed with my eyes closed for what felt like an eternity after that.  I couldn’t sleep.  I even started the cursed CD over and I still couldn’t sleep.  My mind was at odds with my body and after—Five minutes?  It’s only been five minutes?  I decided it was time to occupy myself with something other than darkness and Lucidity.

I walked out to my living room and collapsed on the couch.  The television remote was still on the armrest, Convenient.  There was little more than nothing on television, however, and I quickly found myself switching between “Paid Programming” and dead air.  The thought of getting up and popping in a movie more than once made its way to my mind, but I was tired and that sounded like too much work.

I decided to finally settle for the hypnotic sounds of static—at least until they motivated me to put in something actually worth watching.  The room was illuminated as the television flickered with dancing digital “snow”; I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

With my eyes locked on the television, I could feel my breathing slow.  I could hear the sound of static growing softer.  I could see the light of the television growing dimmer.  The room around me was swallowed in darkness and, for a moment, the world stopped—but only for a moment.

I inhaled deeply and let out a sigh as I opened my eyes again to be greeted by the flashing lights of indecisive pixels.  The sound of static still accompanied the luminous visual noise on screen.

I sat up and rested my head in my hands for a few seconds while the television carried on about its business in the background.  I was running on empty and there wasn’t a thing I could do to get back to sleep.

I sighed heavily and reaffixed my gaze to the television.  A woman looked back at me; her stare was intense but comforting.

I stood and walked toward the television as she extended her arm beyond the screen.  I knelt down in front of her, completely oblivious that I was no longer in my living room; she bent down and whispered in my ear, “You are dreaming.  You can fly.”

To be continued… 

Freefall is the creative property of Andrew T.S. Bedgood and is protected by US Copyright law.  Any use of this creative work without permission is prohibited.