A dream I had - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

datalink7 · 11-13-2003, 01:18 AM

Hi all,

I had a very powerful dream recently, and I tried to capture it in writing. But I'm not a great writer so it didn't come out all that great, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I just wrote it down right after I woke up, and haven't edited it or anything. I call it "The Tape."
------------------------------
"Here, I want to show you something."

"What is it grandma?"

"Just watch."

The tape slid into the VCR, and the screen shown brightly for a minute with blinding light. Then it cleared, and a small child appeared on the screen. He was running, laughing. "Look at me mommy!" he exclaimed with the exuberant vigor of a 3 year old.

The small child was me.

My mom smiled, grabbed me and gave me a hug. "Thanks Charlie" she said, "I had a bad day at work and needed that."

"What is it grandma that you are showing me?"

"Just watch" came the steady reply.

I turned back to the screen, watching it fade to black and give off that light effusing glow only a blank television can give. I searched the darkness, and another image came into being. At first I couldn?t make it out, the details were unclear. A gruff voice said, "You got this one son."

A baseball field materialized on the display. The team in the field was wearing a red jersey with white pants. I could now see that they were all young, perhaps 8 years or so. A whitewashed sign rose up behind left-center field, displaying the score and saying "Little League Baseball" in bold lettering. I turned my attention to the kid walking up to the batters box. I could only see his back, but his jersey was white and he carried a bat over his left shoulder. There was dirt stains on his legs, which I would guess came from sliding into a base on a previous play. He passed in front of the catcher, making sure to step over the plate, and turned. I saw now that it was me again, at 8 years of age.

I took three practice swings, nodded to my teammates on second and third, and planted my feet squarely in the batters box. A nervousness hung in the air, I could sense it even through the television. The score? I quickly looked away from myself and again at the sign above left-center. We were losing 9-8, with two outs in the last inning. This was a moment of truth for me. Crack! The swing, the hit... the ball darting between the first and second baseman. Heavy breath and yelling permeates the air. The right fielder digs up the ball and makes the throw to home, but the boy on second was too fast. The game was won.

Reliving the moment, I smiled and turned to my grandmother. She merely pointed again and said "Just watch."

I turned back, only to be faced again with the black screen. I waited, knowing it wouldn't be long.

Once more a picture came into being. Slowly fading from black, I could see a residential neighborhood. A gangly young teenager strode down the street with a paper carrier bad on his shoulders. It was me again. The soft light that comes right before the morning sunrise hung in the air. I appeared to be deep in thought, when all of a sudden I stopped and turned. Two shapes huddled on the ground in a driveway. It became apparent that it was an old man and a old woman. The man was on the ground and there was blood streaming from his head. My teenage self stared and hesitated. It was another moment in time... another time to decide.

A moment later and a few strides I was asking if I could help. "I've already called 911" the old lady replied, "But could you turn off my car and take the groceries back into the house?"

"Sure," I said.

After taking the two brown bags filled with goods into the house, and stopping the car this younger self stepped outside. The ambulance was there loading up the man, and the lady who I presumed was his wife was preoccupied with the whole ordeal. Without missing a step I walked away quickly and headed home.
The screen faded to black. This time I continued to watch.
I knew to expect to see myself again, and I wasn't in error. It was high school. I was walking in front of Safeway with my friend Jeff, carrying one of those special $2 medium pizza deals from Little Caesar Pizza. We had just bought it to split between us.
A young man approached us. He appeared to be about 20 years old. His clothes were ragged and dirt was upon his skin.

"Might I be able to have a slice of that pizza?" he implored of us.
I was surprised and hesitated? I had expected him to ask for money and had a prepared answer for that. Before I could say anything my friend responded.

"No, we actually bought it for a friend," Jeff replied back to the man.

"Alright, thanks anyway and have a good day," he said with a faint smile of regret.

The image disappeared.

I turned to my grandmother and spoke "I'll regret that moment for the rest of my life. He wasn?t asking for money for drugs or alcohol. Probably just a young guy who was down on his luck. I could have spared a slice of pizza to ease his hunger."

"Just watch," she replied, a bit softer than before.

I turned back and the display was already lit up.

I was 19. I couldn't recognize where I was. People surrounded me in a tight cramped space. There was Nate, Cedric, Zurita? it must be freshman year at Oregon State. Zurita turns and offers me a glass.

"Vodka and Orange juice," he says.

"I've never drank before," I replied.

"Well, don't feel pressured but you should try it sometime. Might as well now," he said with a huge shit-eating grin.

I took a sip. A frown appeared on my face, as the new taste didn't agree with my pallet. But I took another.

Zurita grinned again and slapped me on the shoulder.

"My first time drinking," I mused out loud.

"Just watch," came the soft reply from my grandmother.

I kept my eyes ahead. The screen faded and I could hear the whir of the VCR as it worked. The image came back.

I was sitting at my computer, typing something. Words appeared in a little box. A conversation was taking place over an instant messenger. Leaning in closer, it could be just made out what was being said, and to whom. I was arguing with Ian about joining the military. Furrowed brows betrayed my deeply troubled mind. The conversation went back and forth, with no certain resolution at its closing.

It was a moment of doubt, and a decision to be made.

The screen abruptly went black. It stayed that way for a moment.

I glanced at my grandmother.

"Just watch," she whispered.

I turned back and saw.

A young man, in his late 20?s perhaps, with a full beard walked with a young woman of similar age. Wait, that was me. I didn't recognize myself with the beard. We were walking and laughing, but something was obviously on my mind. It was almost as if I was nervous.

"Want to get married?" I suddenly blurted out, and bit my lip in anticipation.

She looked at me, smiled, and kissed me.

A single tear of joy ran down my face.

The image faded slowly with my new fiancé and me embracing.

"So is this to be my future wife?" I asked my grandmother.

"Just watch," I could barely hear her say.

"Where is this video going to take me now?" I wondered as I turned back to the television.

I was older. Maybe late 30's or early 40's. Again there was a baseball field on the screen. But this time no Little League sign rose in the background, and little kids didn?t run the bases.

"Come on team lets go!" I yelled out. "Lets get this last out and win the game!"

The bases were loaded, but there were two outs. As the pitcher readied his throw, I could see that this was a co-ed softball team. Perhaps a church team or work team, I couldn't tell which.
The pitch came, a strike. Then another, and this time the bat connected. Up and away the ball flew, sailing over the right fielder who scrambled unsuccessfully to get deep enough to catch it.

The game was lost.

"It's alright team," I said as everyone straggled in "Can't win them all. Now lets go shake the other teams hand."

It appeared that I said this with practiced precision. No longer any hesitation, I knew all the words to say. My eyes were tired. I smiled and shook hands, but it was a fake smile. Bored with the world but resigned to what was to come.

My spirit appeared to have been crushed somewhere along the way. I was saddened watching it.

I got in a truck and turned on the radio. "Sitting on The Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding came on. "Look like nothing's gonna change/Everything still remains the same/I can't do what ten people tell me to do/So I guess I'll remain the same," the lyrics rang out as I started the truck.

The film faded away.

"Grandma, can we rewind the film please to the happier parts?" I implored.

She didn't respond. I turned to look at her. Perhaps she hadn't heard.

"Can we please rewind the film?" I asked again.

I could see her mouth move to make the motion of the words "Just watch," but no sound came out. Her finger pointed at the screen with a silent insistence.

I turned back.

There I was, an old man. Sitting on a raggedy old lazy-boy chair, I was flipping through TV channels. No one else was in the room. I was alone.

I kept flipping through the same channels, never staying on any one for any amount of time.

"I've got 13 channels of shit on the TV to choose from," I sang out with a bitter tone.

It was words from a Pink Floyd song.

Someone please rewind it. Please rewind the tape. I can?t handle it anymore. Rewind my life back.

"Can't we rewind it? Please can?t we rewind it?" I was begging her.

She didn't speak, but just pointed at the screen.

I dreaded turning back. I felt my heart was going to drown in sadness. But something drew my eyes back.

A tombstone was one the screen. It read "Charles Lloyd Phillips, born 1982 died 2059. May he rest peacefully," but the words were so washed out that they were hard to see. Weeds were growing up around the stone, and it was obvious nobody who cared had come in a long time.

"So many forgotten souls," a voice said suddenly and I started with surprise.

The picture zoomed out and showed a man staring around at the graveyard.

"So many people forgotten. The winds of time take away anyone who had once cared for them, and eventually all memories die as well. The only record left is an old tombstone, which will eventually cease to exist as well. So sad."

Tears streamed down my face. I turned once again to my grandmother.

"Please rewind it grandma, I can't take it anymore."
She didn?t respond.

"Grandma?" I inquired through the tears.

A response was still not forthcoming, and never would be again.

She was dead. Time had taken her away from me. I was all alone in the room.

And I couldn't rewind the tape.

chavos · 11-13-2003, 07:01 AM

whoa.... i like, as much as one can 'like' a disturbingly powerful story. its a very good start-i'd like to see what the character does with this "revelation" or what's led up to it. thanks for sharing your work with us!

J.R.V.A. · 11-13-2003, 03:03 PM

All we have is now... Good story, Thanks

11-13-2003, 01:18 AM	#1 (permalink)
datalink7 Upright Location: Corvallis, OR, USA	A dream I had Hi all, I had a very powerful dream recently, and I tried to capture it in writing. But I'm not a great writer so it didn't come out all that great, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I just wrote it down right after I woke up, and haven't edited it or anything. I call it "The Tape." ------------------------------ "Here, I want to show you something." "What is it grandma?" "Just watch." The tape slid into the VCR, and the screen shown brightly for a minute with blinding light. Then it cleared, and a small child appeared on the screen. He was running, laughing. "Look at me mommy!" he exclaimed with the exuberant vigor of a 3 year old. The small child was me. My mom smiled, grabbed me and gave me a hug. "Thanks Charlie" she said, "I had a bad day at work and needed that." "What is it grandma that you are showing me?" "Just watch" came the steady reply. I turned back to the screen, watching it fade to black and give off that light effusing glow only a blank television can give. I searched the darkness, and another image came into being. At first I couldn?t make it out, the details were unclear. A gruff voice said, "You got this one son." A baseball field materialized on the display. The team in the field was wearing a red jersey with white pants. I could now see that they were all young, perhaps 8 years or so. A whitewashed sign rose up behind left-center field, displaying the score and saying "Little League Baseball" in bold lettering. I turned my attention to the kid walking up to the batters box. I could only see his back, but his jersey was white and he carried a bat over his left shoulder. There was dirt stains on his legs, which I would guess came from sliding into a base on a previous play. He passed in front of the catcher, making sure to step over the plate, and turned. I saw now that it was me again, at 8 years of age. I took three practice swings, nodded to my teammates on second and third, and planted my feet squarely in the batters box. A nervousness hung in the air, I could sense it even through the television. The score? I quickly looked away from myself and again at the sign above left-center. We were losing 9-8, with two outs in the last inning. This was a moment of truth for me. Crack! The swing, the hit... the ball darting between the first and second baseman. Heavy breath and yelling permeates the air. The right fielder digs up the ball and makes the throw to home, but the boy on second was too fast. The game was won. Reliving the moment, I smiled and turned to my grandmother. She merely pointed again and said "Just watch." I turned back, only to be faced again with the black screen. I waited, knowing it wouldn't be long. Once more a picture came into being. Slowly fading from black, I could see a residential neighborhood. A gangly young teenager strode down the street with a paper carrier bad on his shoulders. It was me again. The soft light that comes right before the morning sunrise hung in the air. I appeared to be deep in thought, when all of a sudden I stopped and turned. Two shapes huddled on the ground in a driveway. It became apparent that it was an old man and a old woman. The man was on the ground and there was blood streaming from his head. My teenage self stared and hesitated. It was another moment in time... another time to decide. A moment later and a few strides I was asking if I could help. "I've already called 911" the old lady replied, "But could you turn off my car and take the groceries back into the house?" "Sure," I said. After taking the two brown bags filled with goods into the house, and stopping the car this younger self stepped outside. The ambulance was there loading up the man, and the lady who I presumed was his wife was preoccupied with the whole ordeal. Without missing a step I walked away quickly and headed home. The screen faded to black. This time I continued to watch. I knew to expect to see myself again, and I wasn't in error. It was high school. I was walking in front of Safeway with my friend Jeff, carrying one of those special $2 medium pizza deals from Little Caesar Pizza. We had just bought it to split between us. A young man approached us. He appeared to be about 20 years old. His clothes were ragged and dirt was upon his skin. "Might I be able to have a slice of that pizza?" he implored of us. I was surprised and hesitated? I had expected him to ask for money and had a prepared answer for that. Before I could say anything my friend responded. "No, we actually bought it for a friend," Jeff replied back to the man. "Alright, thanks anyway and have a good day," he said with a faint smile of regret. The image disappeared. I turned to my grandmother and spoke "I'll regret that moment for the rest of my life. He wasn?t asking for money for drugs or alcohol. Probably just a young guy who was down on his luck. I could have spared a slice of pizza to ease his hunger." "Just watch," she replied, a bit softer than before. I turned back and the display was already lit up. I was 19. I couldn't recognize where I was. People surrounded me in a tight cramped space. There was Nate, Cedric, Zurita? it must be freshman year at Oregon State. Zurita turns and offers me a glass. "Vodka and Orange juice," he says. "I've never drank before," I replied. "Well, don't feel pressured but you should try it sometime. Might as well now," he said with a huge shit-eating grin. I took a sip. A frown appeared on my face, as the new taste didn't agree with my pallet. But I took another. Zurita grinned again and slapped me on the shoulder. "My first time drinking," I mused out loud. "Just watch," came the soft reply from my grandmother. I kept my eyes ahead. The screen faded and I could hear the whir of the VCR as it worked. The image came back. I was sitting at my computer, typing something. Words appeared in a little box. A conversation was taking place over an instant messenger. Leaning in closer, it could be just made out what was being said, and to whom. I was arguing with Ian about joining the military. Furrowed brows betrayed my deeply troubled mind. The conversation went back and forth, with no certain resolution at its closing. It was a moment of doubt, and a decision to be made. The screen abruptly went black. It stayed that way for a moment. I glanced at my grandmother. "Just watch," she whispered. I turned back and saw. A young man, in his late 20?s perhaps, with a full beard walked with a young woman of similar age. Wait, that was me. I didn't recognize myself with the beard. We were walking and laughing, but something was obviously on my mind. It was almost as if I was nervous. "Want to get married?" I suddenly blurted out, and bit my lip in anticipation. She looked at me, smiled, and kissed me. A single tear of joy ran down my face. The image faded slowly with my new fiancé and me embracing. "So is this to be my future wife?" I asked my grandmother. "Just watch," I could barely hear her say. "Where is this video going to take me now?" I wondered as I turned back to the television. I was older. Maybe late 30's or early 40's. Again there was a baseball field on the screen. But this time no Little League sign rose in the background, and little kids didn?t run the bases. "Come on team lets go!" I yelled out. "Lets get this last out and win the game!" The bases were loaded, but there were two outs. As the pitcher readied his throw, I could see that this was a co-ed softball team. Perhaps a church team or work team, I couldn't tell which. The pitch came, a strike. Then another, and this time the bat connected. Up and away the ball flew, sailing over the right fielder who scrambled unsuccessfully to get deep enough to catch it. The game was lost. "It's alright team," I said as everyone straggled in "Can't win them all. Now lets go shake the other teams hand." It appeared that I said this with practiced precision. No longer any hesitation, I knew all the words to say. My eyes were tired. I smiled and shook hands, but it was a fake smile. Bored with the world but resigned to what was to come. My spirit appeared to have been crushed somewhere along the way. I was saddened watching it. I got in a truck and turned on the radio. "Sitting on The Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding came on. "Look like nothing's gonna change/Everything still remains the same/I can't do what ten people tell me to do/So I guess I'll remain the same," the lyrics rang out as I started the truck. The film faded away. "Grandma, can we rewind the film please to the happier parts?" I implored. She didn't respond. I turned to look at her. Perhaps she hadn't heard. "Can we please rewind the film?" I asked again. I could see her mouth move to make the motion of the words "Just watch," but no sound came out. Her finger pointed at the screen with a silent insistence. I turned back. There I was, an old man. Sitting on a raggedy old lazy-boy chair, I was flipping through TV channels. No one else was in the room. I was alone. I kept flipping through the same channels, never staying on any one for any amount of time. "I've got 13 channels of shit on the TV to choose from," I sang out with a bitter tone. It was words from a Pink Floyd song. Someone please rewind it. Please rewind the tape. I can?t handle it anymore. Rewind my life back. "Can't we rewind it? Please can?t we rewind it?" I was begging her. She didn't speak, but just pointed at the screen. I dreaded turning back. I felt my heart was going to drown in sadness. But something drew my eyes back. A tombstone was one the screen. It read "Charles Lloyd Phillips, born 1982 died 2059. May he rest peacefully," but the words were so washed out that they were hard to see. Weeds were growing up around the stone, and it was obvious nobody who cared had come in a long time. "So many forgotten souls," a voice said suddenly and I started with surprise. The picture zoomed out and showed a man staring around at the graveyard. "So many people forgotten. The winds of time take away anyone who had once cared for them, and eventually all memories die as well. The only record left is an old tombstone, which will eventually cease to exist as well. So sad." Tears streamed down my face. I turned once again to my grandmother. "Please rewind it grandma, I can't take it anymore." She didn?t respond. "Grandma?" I inquired through the tears. A response was still not forthcoming, and never would be again. She was dead. Time had taken her away from me. I was all alone in the room. And I couldn't rewind the tape. __________________ Ashes and diamons foe and friend we are all equal in the end. Last edited by datalink7; 11-13-2003 at 01:27 AM..

11-13-2003, 03:03 PM	#3 (permalink)
J.R.V.A. Junkie Location: Utah	All we have is now... Good story, Thanks __________________ And as she plays, her sweet song of laughter floats through the air and warms my heart

11-13-2003, 07:01 AM	#2 (permalink)
chavos Banned Location: St. Paul, MN	whoa.... i like, as much as one can 'like' a disturbingly powerful story. its a very good start-i'd like to see what the character does with this "revelation" or what's led up to it. thanks for sharing your work with us!