Last night I dreamt I was back in the cemetery again. Every night I close my eyes, I see myself dropped in that same hellish cemetery which would scare me out of my wits. The place is filled with deep grey darkness making the graves made of black stones barely visible, not so far away I could see a beam of light focussing on a couple of graves. I take my footsteps ahead to reach near them and I see there remain two graves purely visible, not a particle of dust could be seen on each of them. I get closer to read the names, desperately. One of them reads ‘Marcos Miller’; a name unknown, but the other one would have a name that is known and yet scary, the name which would wake me up in fear every day, and that name would be mine, ‘Robert Michelle’...known and yet scary.
They say that dreams are nothing but exaggerated visions of your reality while you remain unconscious. I agree, but never in my life did I have any experience with graveyards, except the time when my mother was buried, but I hardly can recollect the scenes as I was too small. And never have I had a thought of killing myself, and never did I meet any vicious accident, then why such dreams every night? The answer remains with the heavens.
Though every night the dreams would scare me in my unconscious, the consciousness that follows would always be beautiful...every day.
I wake up, and then see my wife waiting beside me on the bed, carrying a cup of tea, like every day. She smiles at me; one which I never saw before...beautiful, I return the favour by smiling back. I sit up and take a sip of the tea. And then suddenly I hear a voice... “Robert...Robert, come over here son, we need to talk”, this would be my Dad. I pass through the common hall to reach the dining room where he awaits me.
“Sit my son;” tapping on the chair besides him he asks, “I wanted to talk to you regarding that Greson’s Land contract theft”.
“Yes dad I am on it; I am very close to that thief now, another move from my side and he is grabbed...just need to get his name” I speak ardently. After a pause, “No son, I don’t want you to go after him,” dad speaks nervously, “whoever the thief is, he is much powerful...and I already told you not to take up Greson’s cases anymore, I smell mischievousness in his acts.”
“Then what do you want me to do dad? Sit and let that bastard steal more from him? Whatever he is, after all he is my childhood friend,” I speak irately, “I have to find him Dad, for the sake of my old friend” and stand up and go back to my room. Dad shouts my name from behind, but I don’t look back.
The whole day passes with me thinking over how to track down that thief, but firstly I need to get his name...and I feel pity for not having found it till now. With that acute amount of dismay, I go back to sleep.
Darkness arrives...and then the dream follows again. But this time it’s unique, as I step ahead for the two lightened graves, I could see a man standing just between the graves, wearing a polished black coat with a pair of black trousers of silk which could easily reflect the dim moonlight. I go near him, and see him holding a couple of red files in his hand...he holds them tightly. I get closer; his eyes are red, and I can see blood stains on his coat, he gives me a devilish smile and prompts, “Poor chap” and then suddenly disappears behind the graves.
I run at the back of the graves to find him; and I see nothing but both the names again on each grave, one of them being mine...and then suddenly, I wake up.
A new day had been awaiting, this kind of weird dreams should always be succeeded by new days.
I see my wife sitting beside me, holding a cup of tea. I decide to sit up and be the first to give a smile, but then I look at her and see tears rolling over her cheeks and one drop would fall in the cup. I look down at the cup and see it has no tea...but blood. I look up at her in absolute perplexion, “Have it, this is the only thing left.” She cries. “Is this a joke Samantha?” I shout and in heavy fear I push away the cup away from me, it falls down on the floor and blood splashes everywhere around its broken pieces. I run away leaving her behind and get to the dining room where my father sits for me.
Dad weeps as well; his silent cry draws me towards him and I put my hand on his right shoulder, “Can you tell me what’s happening over here? Why both of you are crying and acting so strange...Samantha just gave me blood to drink, what the hell is happening?” baffled I asked.
“I told you not to go after him,” Dad stands up and faces me, “but you didn’t listen to me...you never did,” he cries louder grabbing my shoulders with both hands, “now look what you have done.” He turns his head to his left and I followed him, and what I see makes my perplexion reach its highest level. Two dead bodies lie on the floor...each carried by a cadaver pouch of white, and one priest stands just between them with the Holy Bible in his hands.
I move closer to the bodies, and ask the priest anxiously “Who are these Father?”
“Check yourself son”, he answers with a weird smile. I sit down on my knees and unzip the pouch of the body that lies on my left; I stop till his neck, strange...the face looks very familiar and resembles very much to the man I saw in my dream last night, “What’s his name Father?” I ask eagerly looking up to the priest. By keeping the same smile he replied “Marcos Miller...son, your cousin”. A sense of horror chills up my spine, I gather up the strength to unzip the whole pouch...and then I see him wearing that same coat with bloodstains on it, the same pair of trousers and the same red files being held with his hands tightly...my cousin, impossible. I move a bit back in nerviness, and then I look at the pouched body on my right, my sixth sense tells me that I know whose face remains beneath the pouch. Controlling my nervousness I slowly get my right hand closer to the face and unzip the pouch. I stand up and step back in terror, my sixth sense was right, the face is mine...it’s me. I don’t believe my eyes for what I am seeing; it all seemed strange and weird... “It’s purely a hallucination” I say to myself. “No its not son,” reacts the priest, “you both have surrendered your souls to Jesus...by killing each other, may your souls rest in peace...amen!” I look at him in complete bewilderment.
“And Sorry Robert, we have to bury you at ‘St Vezoran’s Cemetery’, the one near to the war zone...sorry for not having you rested in a beautiful garden of remembrance...population, the one to be blamed.” Vehemently continues the priest looking at me, with the everlasting mysterious smile on his face. Everything seems and sounds so strange and incomprehensible...surely a hallucination.
And then suddenly, my head turns involuntarily to my left, dad stands there tranquil looking into my eyes brusquely, “You are the one who took away my son from me,” he speaks as he steps towards me, “you killed my son you scoundrel.”.
“Dad is right” Samantha comes from the right, “you killed my husband, you widowed me.”
Both of them slowly step towards me, I feel as I am going to get mashed in between the revulsion spawned from both the sides. Both Samantha and dad look utterly dreadful, I have no clue of what they were uttering. I prefer to run...run away from them, and I do so; everything that is happening out here would frighten me to death. Bizarre sights, bizarre occurrences, bizarre loved ones, my life has turned bizarre. I run swiftly and take the staircase to go down, and suddenly my right leg slips over a tread and I roll down the staircase.
All of a sudden, everything goes blank, darkness invades my eyes. And then a voice runs over my ears, “Wake up Robert, enough of dreams, it’s time for some reality” I open my eyes and see the same man...black court, a pair of silk trousers, and the red files in his hands...Marcos Miller. “Good time dreaming, isn’t it brother? Good time lying to yourself,” I try to grasp the inexplicable meaning of his words, as he speaks again “you look puzzled, don’t be, now you are safe back to reality...trust me.” I look at his coat again, the blood stains were gone.
“What do you mean I am back to reality? Am I not dreaming this? I don’t believe you,” I prompt as he looks at me smiling like the devil, “I need to get back to my family, and think I need to see a psychiatrist, I am so sure I have been hallucinating, something really bad is happening to me” I put my right hand on my forehead as I speak.
Marcos starts laughing, “Take it easy Robert” he gestures with his hand... “I want to ask you something,” he comes to my right, “Don’t you think dreams and reality are true siblings?”
I give him a bewildered look, “stop lying to yourself chap, look at you, this is your reality and those were your dreams, you were scared and never believed that you were actually dead” he quotes. I take a step away from him; and suddenly everything starts connecting, the two dead bodies and the two graves, the words of dad, Samantha and the priest...everything. “You were so afraid of your reality that you turned it into a bad and ugly dream, and thought your dreams were your reality, a great switch I reckon...you have been dreaming since long my friend” says Marcos.
Every word he just uttered contains a profound amount of absolutism and meaning. He is right; I had been lying to myself out of fear, now I remember everything, now I know who I am, now I know who Marcos is, and now I know what is real and which were dreams. But what have I been doing? Died to live again out of fear? Such a coward I have been.
I start weeping, not because I realise that I am no more alive, but for I have not only been lying to myself, but my family as well.
I start weeping, not because I realise that I am no more alive, but for I have not only been lying to myself, but my family as well.
“So finally you get it, finally you get that we are nothing more than wandering souls,” he laughs “and see, there lies our graves,” he points towards the two graves, that now really belongs to both of us, “I forgave you for killing me, and I want you to do the same.” He pleased. “But why the hell are you buried beside me?” I ask him quickly. He looks down smiling and looks up again, and quotes “That was my last wish” I need not say a word; I give him a smile and move towards my grave that lies ahead, maybe Marcos has got his answer
‘Robert Michelle 1980-2011’ reads the black stone; and beneath it lies my other side. I look up and then see Samantha and dad coming from far, Samantha is carrying a bunch of roses, they have come to pay me a visit and the flowers must be for me. Now nothing looks appalling, everything seems beautiful, and there is no sign of darkness, even the black graves turn white...there is no fear but light everywhere.
Both of them carry broken smiles on their faces; but they no more look dreadful, they put the bunch of roses on my grave together as I come and stand between them. I put my arms around their shoulders and feel their white pain, and I know they can feel me as well.
- SHOUVIK rryan ROY
