Yellow Squares

  
I had another dream last night. This one was about my uncle, and I couldn't escape the asylum. He's not as crazy as I thought, but crazier. I understand why he's there, and if the things keep going the way the are in my life this dream is my future. I won't escape.

I fell asleep on the couch. The darkness of slumber gave way to the forests of dreams. I approached the mental ward on foot emerging from those forests. Surrounding the brick and concrete building was a large, manicured square. The freshly trimmed bushes and potted annuals indicated this was a place of wealth. The absence of feeling screamed insane asylum. I began wondering why I was here when I noticed a large red dot painted on the front door. In the middle of that dot was a one inch by one inch yellow square. Although not exactly like all the other dots, I knew I arrived.

The white (what I assumed to be marble) stairs welcomed me with glittering cleanliness. Their smooth, polished surface was felt underfoot even though I was wearing thick soled black boots. The steel handrail was sharply cold, and the flower bins that decorated the sides of the stairs were a little inhumanly manicured. Everything was perfect, crisp, idyllic like it stepped out of some 1950s movie. I put my hand on the door readying myself to push it open, hesitant because I was sure what was on the inside was not nearly as perfect as what was on the outside. I didn't want to leave the comfort of alien order. My hand trembling, I pushed. The door was locked.

I felt the thin raised edge of the red circle painted on the door between my thumb and forefinger. I followed it all the way around its circumference, and, when I reached my starting place, the yellow square in the center popped open. I peered inside, and all I saw was white: a bright blinding brilliance that burned the brown of my eyes.

I pushed myself away from the door and still only saw white. As my vision returned, I was no longer standing at the top of the marble stairs. I was inside the massive brick and concrete building with uniformed escorts gripping my biceps.

A dull voice projected from some tinny speaker far away ordered commands. "Head straight down the hall. Remain calm. The guards will guide you. Panic is only a remnant of fear, and fear is useless. You are here for your own safety. You will not speak unless spoked to. Patients must keep all  body parts to themselves. There is no escape. Head straight down the hall. Remain calm. The guards will guide you. Panic is..."

My vision still blurry, I couldn't make out anything other than my two bald guards. One was tall, slender feminine with painted eyebrows and pink lips. Her hands pinched and my skin beneath her grip ached. The other was all tall and slender. His large black bushy eyebrows and hairy stubby fingers read masculine, and his grip was loose but forceful. There could be no escape. Panicked, I released control and dropped all my weight. Their grips tightened, and they dragged me across the floor.

"You are here for your own safety. You will not speak unless spoken to. Patients must keep all body parts to themselves. There is no escape..."

It felt like I walked/was dragged down a straight corridor for hours. I was afraid that the movement would never end, and I started getting motion sickness. The two escorts never changed. They just looked straight ahead paying no attention to me. Queasiness finally controlled my stomach, and I started throwing up. The escorts ignored me. Strings of vomit and spittle decorated my clothes like a Jackson Pollock, which I now noticed was an insane-asylum-white straight jacket.

"You have arrived," said the tinny voice.

The escorts changed their position. The feminine one grabbed my feet; the masculine one grabbed me under my arm pits. They swung me back and forth.

"Now," commanded the speaker, and the escorts let go. I flew through the air and landed with a hard smack on my back on a cold concrete floor.

Another bright flash of white raced across my eyes, a click of a door closing briefly echoed, and I was surrounded in blackness that no sound or light could enter or escape. I fell asleep in what I perceived was a corner.

"Hello...Martin? Martin is that you? Wake up. Wake up!"

The urgency of his low whispered voice reached my ears, and I shot awake. It was still pitch black, but somewhere a long distance away on my right hand side was the faint yellow outline of a one inch by one inch square.

"Hurry Martin. I don't have much time or energy. Move. Move now! They are coming back. It is not your time yet. They are going to send you back, but I must speak with you first. Run. Run now!"

The voice was coming from the faint outline. I started making my way towards it squirming like a worm. There was something familial about the voice, and I needed to know from whom it came.

"Faster Martin! Quick. Quick!"

I wiggled myself to standing and started running. The small square grew to a large door. Behind me, I started hearing heels on tiles. I quickened my pace. As another door opened behind me, I jumped through the square and emerged in a small cube of which all the walls were dirt. A man in his forties with peppery hair sat with legs crossed in front of me smiling.

"It worked," he whispered followed by the thud of a door slamming shut. "We only have a few moments, Martin, and there is a lot I must tell you."

He suddenly looked both older and younger. It was as if his being oscillated between a teenage boy and an old man causing the image before me to look like it was in its forties.

"This is real, Martin. What is happening is real. Remember that. If you forget everything else I tell you, remember that. This IS real. This place DOES exist."

Then it came to me: he was my uncle. He didn't look like I remembered him, but my only memories were from when I was a boy and he was in his twenties.  Shortly thereafter, he was locked up. I hadn't seen him since.

"Martin. I need your help. I need you to do something back in the other world for me. I need you to visit me in the hospital, but first you need to know something. Something other than this is real. Do you understand?"

I refused to believe this was real. I closed my eyes and plugged my ears with my index fingers. I didn't want to believe what was happening to me. If it was real, it meant my dots were real, and there was and is comfort in pretending its all make believe. While it doesn't exactly excuse my actions in this world, it does make them more of a joke. If the dots are real, it means I have to do something. I'm comfortable doing nothing. It's how I manage living.

He slapped me and spat in my face. "Martin! We don't have time for your shit. Listen. This is incredibly important."

A loud booming pounding erupted behind me.

"They are getting closer. Now pay attention."

My uncle began drawing shapes on the dirt floor with his finger. They were a mish mash of symbols some of which I recognized as corporate logos. There was Apple, Nike, Shell, and the CBS eye followed by a triangle, square, and finally a large circle that appeared red to me. It was the only color in the entire cell. Something moved me, and I lurched forward. Catching my balance, I threw out my hand, and it landed on the red dot.

"NO!" Screamed my uncle, and I started falling through it. "Do not trust anyone, Martin. They are coming for you. Remember: THIS IS REAL!!!"

He continued yelling at me, but his voice became mute as I continued falling.

I woke up panicked and sweating with vomit covering my face and my pants wet from having pissed. The weird thing is the piss formed a perfect square on my couch, and all the remnants of my stomach that were now all over my face were perfect red circles. I collected every last bit of vomit in a tupperware container and flipped the couch cushion.

I made my way to bed, but didn't want to sleep. I was terrified to see my uncle again, so I sat up and wrote the dream down.

I am not going to visit him. Well...at least not yet. I don't want confirmation that what is happening is real. Denial is a wonderful place to live.

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