The
Dream
By CherylR
March 14, 2010
Judy
challenged me to write a story that contained no nouns. I couldn’t make that work for me, but I did
stick to pronouns for my main characters.
Thanks for the beta, Judy. All
mistakes are still mine… too bad the boys aren’t. (pout) Enjoy!
~~~
Blue eyes locked onto blue. Pain showed in one pair, despair in the
other. He’d been too late… again. The blue eyes slowly closed for the final
time.
He sat
up abruptly in bed. His heart pounded as
he gasped for breath. “Shit, I hate it when that happens.” He rubbed at his face and looked at the
clock. “5 am isn’t too early to get up.” He grabbed his gym clothes and headed toward
the bathroom to get ready for the day.
He
stared into his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Short brown hair, well-toned, muscular body,
and blood shot, blue eyes. He shrugged
and laced up his running shoes.
He
jogged through the park and couldn’t remember a time in his life that he hadn’t
had the dream. Sometimes the outcome was good. He’d been able to save the man. He rode on that high for weeks at a
time. Other times, he hadn’t been fast enough,
or strong enough, or… Those times had him doubling his workouts and self
defense classes for months.
His entire
life revolved around preparation for one event.
An event he knew was drawing near.
He looked about the same age now as he was in the dream. It would be nice
if he could figure out a few more details.
Minor things like location, season, even what the other guy looked like…
anything. But, no all he saw was a pair
of blue eyes and a gun.
He felt
like he was in the right location. Or at
least he didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to move. So he hoped he was where he was supposed to
be.
He spent
years trying to find someone to help him get a handle on the dream. Medicine men,
soothsayers, even dream interpreters.
One shaman told him that the fate of the world rested on his
shoulders. If he saved the man with blue
eyes, then the world would be saved. If
he failed, life as we know it would change forever for the worse.
But, no
pressure.
He spent
his time between workouts and dream chasing, taking classes on a variety of
subjects. He’d even taken a few on
psychology… he wasn’t sure if they would help keep him sane or not, but figured
at least he’d know if he went off the deep end.
His
ex-fiancée gave him a dream catcher and the book “The Joy of Gay Sex” when she
returned his ring. She said she was
tired of competing with a dream man and maybe he should read the book.
He shook
his head. He wasn’t gay, or bi, or
whatever. This wasn’t about sex or
gender. He wasn’t looking to jump the
guy.
This was
about the hands of destiny and the spinning webs of fate. It was about saving the life of one man… and
maybe the future of the world. He was
given the gift and burden to know the future, or at least one very small part
of it. But, by knowing and preparing he
would have a chance to have a major impact on that one event. How could he not devote most of his life to
get ready for it? Wouldn’t anyone?
~~~
Why do
cars break down when it’s cold and rainy outside? It certainly seems like insult on top of
injury, though he wasn’t injured, just wet… and cold. He looked around in concern. He wasn’t familiar with this area, but he
didn’t think it was one he wanted to hang out in for long. The buildings looked run-down and there were
more streetlights burned out than lit.
He
started heading toward “civilization” with a “don’t mess with me, I may be
armed” attitude. He was between working
streetlights when he heard a disturbance from ahead. As he cautiously approached, he was able to
distinguish several voices yelling. A
few of the understandable non-vulgar words were “stop” and “police.” It sounded like someone was also yelling
similar things in different languages. Including Quechua…
A
convulsive shudder rack his body and his eyesight narrowed to a spot of light …
bouncing off of a gun. He was running
full out before he even thought about moving.
All of his energy, his entire being was focused on getting to that gun
in time.
He dove
for the gunman and took him out with a flying tackle that would have made
defensive football coaches worldwide beam with pride. He started to get back up only to be tackled
from behind. A knife flew past where he
would have been if he’d regained his feet.
The weight on top of him shifted and he turned to look at his rescuer. “T-There was never a knife,” he stuttered as
he gazed up into familiar blue eyes.
“There
was always a knife,” the other blue-eyed man replied solemnly.
The end
Feedback
is greatly appreciated. CherylR