Death Ride

They say that if you die in your dream, you die in real life.  I don't know who "they" are, but they sure as f*ck don't know shit!  I've died many many times in my sleep and have woken up each and every single time.

There was a point when I was younger that I died a different way in every dream I had over the course of about a week.  One involved riding a rickety old roller coaster that jumped a high sharp turn.  I had one where I'd jumped on a grenade.  There was one that involved another amusement park ride, where the arms spun round-and-round, as well as up and down, the little pod at the end, of which I was riding, went up and kept going up into a cascading arch, before plummeting into a nearby parking lot.  There were a couple of dreams where I was trapped in a vehicle sinking underwater.  Those ones I've never been very fond of, having a healthy respect for the water.

Nope!  I'd say who ever the scholastic "they" are, they don't know shit about dreams.  Or if their synopsis is correct, then I'm an exception to the rule, perhaps.  Whatever the case, I've died a great many times and I've awoken every time.  The reason I'm addressing this, here, is I had another one just the other night.  Only this one was exceptionally strange.  In all preceding death-related dreams.  My death would come in the natural pace that it would.  The roller coaster car making contact with the ground, then I'd calmly wake up.  The grenade explodes under my torso and after a brief pause in my head, I'd open my eyes and be safely within the four walls of my bedroom.  As for the sinking vehicles, I was surprisingly calm before waking up safe and dry.  This dream the other night, though...  Troubling.

I'm unable to remember the events leading up to my tragic end, the other night.  I can only recall driving my pick-up to a location just outside a city that I've never been to before.  After sometime at this place, I was dispatched to drive back into the city to visit another locale, only they people gave me a car to drive back.  It was a nice car, if I remember correctly.  A sleek black sedan with bright LED and Xenon lights on the front that were bluish in colour.  It may have been a BMW, but that's not an important factor in this story.

I set out on my mission, the night quickly approaching and the world growing more and more dark.  I headed north, I think, on towards the amber glow of the nearby metropolis.  The roads that took me there weren't paved, thick with gravel that made driving a little more challenging in the sedan that it had been in my truck.  I was close, though, and soon found myself gliding along smooth concrete surfaces.  This mysterious place definitely was not in Saskatchewan, as I've never traveled such gloriously smooth highways anywhere in  my home province of Saskatchewan.

The GPS, that had been programmed by my hosts, directed me to cross an overpass that dissected a train yard.  There was no traffic on the roads so I never bothered to slow down at the flashing amber light.  I signaled left and sped up the brightly lit roadway that lead straight into the darkened sky.  The speedometer needle continued to climb up the dial, even after I found my wheels had left the safety of the roadway.  It became all to apparent that the overpass was still under construction, after I glanced to my left and realized there was nothing there, but a few straggling re-bar.  My attention returned to the view in front of me as the nose of the car began to bow towards the ground.  I braced for impact, like that was going to help reduce the pain for falling a couple hundred feet.

It never happened in slow motion, although the events that followed did seem to move at a slower pace.  I remember making out the grey stones that made up much of the ground in this train yard.  I remember the front of this luxury sedan folding up like a cheap suit, the moment it made contact with the ground.  I remember being jarred in my seat and a sharp pain zipping up the right side of my spine, like a shock of electricity.  Then I remember quiet.  Absolute silence, interrupted a few seconds later by the sounds of steam and the car settling into it's new resting place.

I sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to comprehend just what the f*ck happened.  Conjuring up the memories of what lead me to this moment in time.  I hadn't seen any traffic signs indicating that the road was closed due to construction.  I couldn't move.  I was pinned behind the wheel of the car.  Light from the flickering GPS made shadows dance across my face and the cabin of the car.  I reached up and turned the key off, despite the engine being quite dead.

A few more moments passed, but they seemed like hours.  I now found myself outside the car.  Standing across from the bright headlamps that were still operational, I assessed the damage.  I looked up to see a gathering of people looking over the edge of the defunct overpass.  To my right, I saw rescuers making their way down the embankment, with flashlights in hand.  I tried to approach them, but was unable to move.  I was confused, but more so once the people made it to the car.  They began trying to open the driver door, all the while reaching in and screaming at me.  "SIR!  SIR!  CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

They were obviously calling out to me, but their attention was directed inside the car.  In fact nobody bothered to look my way at all.  I called out to them, but no one responded to my pleas.  Finally I was able to make my way to the front of the smoldering car and take note of myself unconscious behind the wheel and the rescuers checking my vital signs.  "It's too late..." I overheard one of them mutter to another.

I continued to stand there watching, confused by what I was witnessing unfold, but completely calm.  Aside from their incessant chatter, I could clearly hear my own breaths.  Deep inhales followed by heavy sighs.  I felt at peace.  One thought did cross my mind that didn't involve the happenings unfolding before me.  "What's going to become of my sweet little boy [cat], Monkey?"  On that single thought, I heard the alarm on my cell phone going off.  I turned away from the car and found myself awake and hitting snooze.

Once more, after being killed in my dreams, I awoke to live out my dream life.  Working a job that doesn't appreciate me and living with my sweet cat, Monkey, who does appreciate me.

Tarantino Stole My Dream

I am not an actor.  Not by any means.  I aspired to be one, as a young child, like many kids do.  However, when my parents told me I would never be good enough, I had to accept that reality.  After all, they were grown ups and I was just a little kid.  I figured, they knew what they were talking about.

After so many years, this reality must have crept into my subconscious, as this morning I had the strangest of dreams.  Not to say that I never have strange dreams, because over the years, I have had some doozies.  For instance, as a child I do recall being scooped up and eaten by King Kong.  Odd for a herbivore to devour a human being, especially one as piddly as I was.  I remember not being chewed, but popped like a pill and the journey down to his stomach was lengthy enough that I could look all around me and process the scene of which I was passing, rather quickly, by.  Bananas.  Tons and tons of bananas, lined his throat.  Pretty f*ckin' strange, huh?

Hence the reality that the dream I awoke to this morning being of equal strangeness.  Although I wasn't consumed by an over-sized movie monster, it was bizarre all the same.  I dreamed that I was on the set of a Quentin Tarantino movie.  I was standing in a line with actor Eli Roth and a red-headed actress whom I did not recognize.  We each had a special weapon in our possession, used more for slicing than cutting.  I recall that my fellow companions regaled at the uniqueness of my blade.  We were going over our lines for the scene that we were about to film.  Standing back, the two actors ahead of me were trading off lines, back and forth, like the true professionals that they were.  Although I was in the very same scene, I realized that I didn't know a single line.  "I'm not an actor!" I thought to myself, "How did I get into this situation?"  Never the less, I joined in the rehearsal, adlibbing my lines as they progressed, them pausing to look at me, momentarily, before giving me words of encouragement.  Apparently, I was there to be comedic affect.  I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

There was already talk that this was going to be an Oscar-worthy motion picture, and though I knew I'd never be nominated for such a prestigious award, it was refreshing to know that I was going to be a part of something so grand.  Quentin finally appeared before us, just as a row of train cars rolled up.  It was gleaming in the morning sun.  Jet black with a thick bright gold stripe running lengthwise from it's nose all the way to it's fourth and rear car.

Quentin engaged in some idle chit-chat with my co-stars before turning to me.  "Ah, Jeff.  Glad you made it." he said, as though we were kindred spirits separated by time, "Follow me, I have a special job for you to do."  He lifted a velvet rope that I hadn't seen up to this point.  I ducked under it and followed the famed director off towards the train.

"The train that you see here, contains all of the recording devices that we're using for this movie." he explained to me, brandishing his arm in such a grandioso manner. "However, we haven't anyone who is able to operate this train."  Quentin paused for a moment, then turned to look at me.  "That's where you come in.  I need you to run this train for me.  Ensure that it's onset at all times.  Can you do this for me, Jeff?  This is a very important job.  I need you to do this."

Preposterous as it sounds, I heard these words escape my lips, "But Quentin!  I'm an actor!"

I know, right?  Growing up my parents never believed I'd ever be good enough for such a profession, so why would I think I was now?  Never the less, I said it.  Spoken words of desperation to one of Hollywood's finest movie generals.  Even though minutes before, I was questioning why I was on board for a motion picture of this caliber, I was now confident enough that I could pull off the role for which I was hired to play.

Placing his arm on my shoulders, Quentin was a little hesitant to inform me that he and the producers had decided to cut my part from the movie.  I would still be paid the agreed upon salary that was declared in my contract, however they still needed me to work for my paycheck.  Given my "history" of driving a forklift, it was a given that I'd be qualified to operate this specialized train.  I failed to see then, and even now in my conscious state, what the hell one has to do with the other, but I hung my head in defeat and soon found myself sadly looking down from the cockpit of the train, at the world that could've been.