INTRODUCTION
938 Words
INTRODUCTION
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life
is rounded with a sleep.”
William Shakespeare, The Tempest
This story starts with a dream. But in this case the dream is a true dream, one of those that come along with a rem phase, and eye movements. I have always been a good dreamer and after a few years of training, I have become clever enough to enter the world of lucid dreaming and achieve full awareness when I am in a dream. The good part of it comes when you realize that flying is just as easy as walking and you start behaving like a drunken bat. But nothing ever made me suspect there could be so much more than that.
The whole thing started in a quiet way. The first two times I was not impressed at all. I just woke up in the middle of the night with my heart bumping and the uncomfortable sensation of not feeling at home and that something was strange. But, as there was no moon and everything was dark and peaceful, and also because I was too tired to keep my attention focused on what was going on, I just gave it no importance at all, turned on my side and fell asleep again.. After all, it is the same sort of feeling you get when, after a long journey, you fall asleep in a room you do not know. When you suddenly wake up, it often happens that you feel lost for a few minutes, and you need time to get your mind settled again.
The third time though, the feeling was totally different: a full moon was shining through the window and there was light enough in the room to have a look around. It was only then that I fully realized I was not at home but in what appeared to be a completely unknown place: first of all, the room was much smaller than mine and then, instead of the usual french window opening on a balcony, the light came through a small cottage window made of thick glass panes held together by a heavy wooden frame impossible to open. The bed was small, hard and itchy, and the blanket did not warm me up. The smell in the room was unpleasant and I knew there must have been a dog around. Well, I had gone to bed at the end of spring and I was now experiencing cold weather, one of those chilly unpleasant nights at the end of autumn when the heating has not yet been turned on. Feeling anxious, I concentrated hard on escaping the uncomfortable situation and fortunately fell asleep straight away. The following day, I still remembered the dream but it had turned back into a normal one and for weeks nothing more happened.
But when it happened the fourth time, there was definitely no way I could avoid the experience. Again, a full moon was shining outside the window but luckily the weather was warmer and the room, still austere and unadorned, had a cleaner look. Even the sheets smelt nice despite the linen’s coarse texture. The canopy cover, a red heavy drape, made the bed look like a shelter.
It took me sometime to feel brave enough to get up and have a look around around. The floorboards felt coarse and creaked under my feet. It was nearly impossible to look outside the window, eaither because the panes were too thick or dirty. I could only vaguely guess a narrow pathway made up of cobbles down the sides of which ran some putrid water. No pavements had been laid and the street was not lit, even though there was some kind of lighting not so far from there. The house seemed roughly built and after a while I even started percieving a low and regular rumble coming from somewhere inside: It was a man, happily snoring.
While trying to give a meaning to what I was looking at, a sudden feeling of uneasiness started to grow on me, making my heart pound fast. Strong mixed emotions were starting to break through and, because I was unable to handle them, I felt even more uncomfortable. Where did all this come from? In order to distract myself I gave another look around the room.
Near the window stood a little wooden desk on which a few sheets of paper were neatly piled up. I could also see a little ink pot, a couple of goose quills and a pen with a bizarre metallic nib lying in a box. A small piece of candle and a mirror set aside to reflect its light completed the corner. I noticed that the sheets were covered with elegant music signs.
Those papers brought me back to what I was not willing to discover: the reason why I was exactly in that place and in that moment. By giving a quick look to the music, I identified the period as sometimes around the beginning of the 18th century. On the other side of the room, a little fire place had been fitted with a curious heater loaded with coal and seemed to confirm the correctness of the period. All these objects felt familiar giving me a slight feeling of happiness when I touched them. Had there not been that uncomfortable sensation rising as soon as my mind drifted away, I would even have felt at home, in a sheltered environment and almost happy. But the vision was quickly vanishing. I tried to make it last a little longer but there was nothing more to do. And everything went dark again...
CHAPTER ONE
- Writer
