The diary of a dream...

The TV was broadcasting static and the only sound in the room was the hissing white noise issuing from the speakers. I couldn't be sure how long I had been asleep as the numbers on the readout of my digital alarm clock kept changing, one second it was showing the time as 01:06 and the next it was showing 19:68.

I groped for the switch to the angle poise lamp at the side of my bed but found that it was missing. Not the lamp. Just the switch. “What the…” I thought, for a fraction of a second but it slid quickly from my mind. I was somewhat confused. The normal thought process was somehow liquid in its composition. My thoughts seemed to be like eels, hard to get a grip on.

My attention was dragged back to the digital readout of the alarm clock. The numbers were still unsure of what time it was supposed to be. Had I been drinking? I thought, looking around for an empty bottle. No evidence was immediately visible.

Drugs then? Once more nothing lead me to believe that I’d been on a chemical adventure. Sure, the bottle of apple juice spiked with codeine based pain killers was at my bedside where it always was but I could see I hadn’t drank any of it.

A cigarette was sitting smoking in the ashtray next to the small plastic bottle so I reached out and got a hold of it. I dragged the smoke deep into my lungs and wondered what was going on.

Had there been a power outage of some kind? A black out perhaps? Caused by the awful weather I could hear shaking the windows and buffeting the trees in the back of the house. That seemed logical, the high winds and driving rain had caused a substation somewhere to POP a fuse and the result was a TV jammed between channels and an alarm clock that didn’t know what time it was.

The walls looked strange. The flickering static beaming from the TV made them seem like they were having problems deciding what they were made of. I got the impression that if I were to reach out and try to touch them my hand would melt into the solid mass and become part of the bricks and mortar.

The TV suddenly stopped broadcasting static and instead filled the room with images of important political figures.

Jimmy Carter appeared saying something about change and progress. Maggie Thatcher appeared and said something about the future. Ronald Reagan replaced the picture of the Iron Lady and I laughed as he blew chunks onto the poor unfortunate soul at some lavish bash thrown in honour of some long forgotten cause he had been championing.

JFK appeared, with his winning smile, waving to a small crowd of onlookers, just before his head snapped backwards as a bullet smashed into his skull. The picture rewound in slow motion. The shot came again. JFK took the hit and I could smell cordite hanging in the air.

Nixon appeared chiming the word “Sacrifice” over and over and over again until I finally snapped and shouted “STOP IT!”

At which point the TV shut down with a flash of white and a phwoop noise.

The room was plunged into darkness and I reached for the lamp switch and found it was back in its usual place. I flicked it upwards and jumped as it illuminated a figure sitting on the small table in the opposite corner of the room.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded.

The figure, a young looking man with a bald head, a Hawaiian shirt, Converse shoes and shorts made from an American flag, said nothing.

“I said who the fuck are you!” I questioned again.

The figure smiled a broad smile and said nothing. Reaching into a pocket he withdrew a pack of Dunhill’s, popped a cigarette into a small plastic holder and lit it with a Zippo.

“Answer me goddamn it.” I said.

The figure laughed. “Jesus man, you really ought to calm down. You’re safe enough. I’m not here to hurt you. If I was you’d be a rapidly cooling corpse on a blood soaked bed by now.” The figure said, still smiling.

“Answer me then, who are you?” I asked.
“That depends.” The figure replied.
“On what?” I asked.
“On whether you want my real name, my pseudonym or the name that most people liked to call me.” The figure replied, cryptically.
“Any and all would be good.” I said.

The figure laughed again. “Well, my real name was Hunter, my pseudonym was Duke but most people liked to call me Dr.” He said flicking his eyebrows upwards.

I realised what the figure was trying to claim. “Is that right?” I said.
“Sure is man.” The figure replied.
“I happen to know that the person you claim to be is dead.” I replied, wondering if I could find something to use as a weapon against the interloper.
“That’s true, to a certain extent.” The figure said. “But that’s not a problem in here.” He continued, motioning around with his hand.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“You’re not too quick on the uptake are you? You’re dreaming. I may well be dead but dreams are different.” The figure said, matter of factly.
“And how can I be sure I’m dreaming?” I asked.
“Well, you could punch yourself in the face and see if it hurts.” The figure said with a chuckle. “Or easier still you could try to tell me what time it is.” He said pointing at the digital alarm clock.

The figures on the clock were still skipping around. 03:45, 20:06, 00:00, 09:18.

“The clock is fucked.” I said.
“This is harder than I thought it would be… OK, remember what you learned about lucid dreaming? Numbers are hard to read, things are slightly different to normal, light switches for example, thoughts are harder to grasp, reality is no longer a constant.” The figure said.

I closed my eyes and focused my mind. If this was a lucid dream I could concentrate and conjure up whatever I wanted. I felt my thoughts begin to become more solid. Opening my eyes I saw what it was I had focused my thoughts upon.

A sleek black MV Augusta F4 Senna sat where my TV was a second ago.

“Nice bike. It’s not a Vincent Black Shadow but it’s still nice.” He said.
“Man, that bike makes a Vincent look like a Vespa. That thing has more poke than a Vegas hooker, it’d leave a Vincent for dead.” I replied.

The bike popped out of existence and the figure spoke. “Listen kid, you’ve been given a chance to do something you love, grab the fucker by the throat and give it a shake. You’ll be surprised where it can take you. Don’t let them down.” He said, beginning to fade.

“Let who down?” I asked, as the figure faded totally.
“Them…” Said the disembodied voice.

I expected whomever they were to pop into existence but they didn’t.

They didn’t have to. I knew who he meant.