Dying to Live Again

by D. M. Raver

  “Everything okay?” Mom asks, helping to sort out the jumble of assorted wires.

  Jarn adjusts his glasses. “I don’t think we’ll have the new sequence finished by this afternoon,” he states, his voice calming.

  “Well, the show we’ve been running will suffice if we can’t get it to work.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve dried up the customers in this area,” he sighs. “If we don’t add new acts, our profits won’t be enough to cover the credits for the electricity.”

  Mom pats his shoulder. “You keep working on it. The girls and I will pass out more posters.”

  “Why do we have to?” Malane groans.

  Mom returns to us, putting the dishes back into their containers. “Because if we don’t bring in more customers then we’ll have to move again soon.”

  “What? We can’t move again!”

  “Malane...” Mom’s voice softens in response to my sister’s yelling. I push the cereal around in my bowl. “The show gives us credits. We have to go where the audience is.”

  “We never had to move when you mended clothes.”

  Mom’s eyes narrow and she exhales through her teeth. “I’m going to go advertise for the afternoon show and help put food on this family’s table.” She’s angry, but she still hasn’t raised her voice. “Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome.” Her wet eyes challenge both of us.

  “I’ll come with you Mom.”

  As my words sink in she begins to smile. We both look to Malane.

  “Fine!” Malane exclaims, pushing her long hair behind her ear. “But only because I want to walk.”

  The neon paper becomes a stark contrast against the dark gray side of the building. My gaze rises upward, following the pattern of rectangular indentations all the way to the top of the dull building. I realize I’m staring at the place where the top of the building touches the sky when Mom calls my name. Concern is on her face as she comes to me.

  “What’s wrong, Benita?”

  “Nothing,” I assure her. “Just looking at the building.”

  She nods and hums a little, which means she is trying to figure out what I was thinking. “They are interesting.”

  “I think those were windows,” I explain, motioning to the indentations.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I... had a dream of a city made of silver skyscrapers.”

  She stares at me a moment. “You know you can’t believe those dreams.”

  “It felt so real...” I lower my gaze to the trash and clutter of the street.

  Taking my shoulders she says, “You’ve been given a gift, Benita. Most people only experience a few dreams their entire lives.”

  “And I dream every night.”

  She kisses me on the forehead. “There is a reason for everything. Come, let’s catch up with your sister before she gets too far ahead.”

  We hurry to catch up with Malane, who has entered the next residential area. We navigate around the large tents, finding places to hang our fliers and pass them out to the distracted, busy passerbys.

  “Hey, Mom?” I ask when we start to leave the area with the most people. “Why doesn’t anyone live in these buildings?”

  She stops, concerned that I would ask her. “They haven’t been used for centuries. The few that are safe the High Council uses.”

  “I don’t understand why we can’t go in one and...”

  Mother stops me sharply and her stern expression cuts off my words.

  “Benita, you are to never try to enter one of these buildings. They could collapse at any moment.” I nod, startled by her sudden protectiveness. She leans back. “Besides, even if we wanted to, they are all sealed. The doorways no longer exist.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  I keep my head down on our return journey, but I can’t help but see patterns of streets and structures in the garbage scattered across our path.

  The lights dim in the small tent and mist drifts between the half empty seats. A bright light explodes, causing the audience to cover their faces, but I have learned to avert my eyes. A series of pulsing noises ceases the audience’s murmuring. The noises soften and a single image replaces all others. A prism appears on the stage, spinning and refracting the light of a thousand moving rainbows across the mist.

  I get a strange feeling as I gaze at the spectacle. Though I’ve viewed this light show countless times, tonight it pauses my breath. The myriad of colors reminds me of... how sunlight sparkled off clean metal.

  “Welcome,” a voice speaks across the tent and the light intensifies.

  Crackling flashes erupt from the prism, and the front members of the audience cringe as sparks fall near them.

  “Tonight, I am your guide,” Jarn’s showman’s voice confidently states as he appears beside the spinning prism, cupping it with his hand. “Here you will find the forgotten magic of Argentar.”

  My stomach feels like it will fall on the floor. The chemicals in the mist flood my sinuses.

  “Prepare for your senses to be amazed,” Jarn tells the audience, and he tosses his hand, sending the prism flying towards us. It expands, growing large enough to fill half the tent, and the audience ducks as it flies over them. I remain standing, and the light of the illusion crashes against my skin. Jarn’s gaze pierces me – that was not in my script. My throat burns with the angry remnants of my last meal.

  Avoiding the gazes of the audience, I turn and leave. Passing through the folds of the entrance, I find Malane blocking my path.

  “What are you doing?” she demands.

  “I need some air,” I stammer, annoyed with the shakiness of my voice. Sensing weakness, Malane’s face tightens.

  “If I have to stand here to greet guests and take credits, then it’s your turn to watch the audience. Get back in there!”

  I shake my head. “I just... can’t.”

  “You’re such a freak,” she snarls.

  I push past her.

  “Where are you going?” she yells, but I’ve already ran down the street

  Tears blur my vision, no matter how many times I wipe them away. Far enough away from our tent I slow down, leaning against a wall to catch my breath. Instead of refreshing my lungs, the stench burns them, though I try to ignore the smell.

  Immediately upon closing my eyes I see a kaleidoscope of painted lights, coupled with intense pain in the front of my head. The patterns play across the back of my eyelids, though there is no source of light in the dark street. Slowly, the headache eases. Undulating ovals of green, purple, and black expand to the reaches of my vision, while new colors form and expand from the center...

  I open my eyes, unsure how long I’ve sat here, but I’m worried it has been a long time judging by my stiff muscles. The feeling of comfort and peace is wisped away when I realize Mom doesn’t know where I am. Fighting my reluctance I push myself off the wall and run home.

  Mom and Jarn stand up when I come in the door. They’ve been waiting at the table, and judging by their expressions, it has been hours since I left.

  “Benita!” Mom exclaims, too angry to embrace me. “Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to be gone this long.”

  “Why did you leave?” Jarn demands. “We almost sent for the police!”

  I look to the floor. Jarn has never raised his voice to me before. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

  “What’s wrong Benita?” Mom takes my shoulders. “Even Malane said you were acting strangely.”

  I pull away from her. “Yeah, I bet she did.”

  “Where are you going?” Mom demands.

  “To bed.” I try to hide my tears.

  Anger seeps into my dreams when I finally fall asleep. I carry it with me as I walk down the underground tunnel, hearing voices up ahead.

  “We have to fight back! We can’t just leave the people to be sucked dry by these leeches.”

  “They are no longer in our charge.” I recognize her voice, though now it
sounds tired and defeated.

  “This changes everything. We didn’t know the danger we were leaving the people with.”

  “And if we interfere, they will only blame us for their troubles.”

  The sources of this conversation come into view. Gathered around the table are the fugitives from my previous dream. They are dressed casually, all but the queen, who is wearing another elegant dress. She sits at the head of the table, looking from one to another of her followers.

  “The people of this city must determine their own destinies now.”

  They nod with reluctance, and start to serve their meal.

  “The availability of plants on the surface is dwindling,” a tan, brown haired woman states as she passes out orange and green sticks. “This is likely to be our last fresh meal.”

  They take hands and stare at their plates, seeming to savor the moment. I step forward to get a better view.

  “May this food nourish our bodies, and may our energies give back to the earth,” Jomicolis states. They lower their hands and begin to eat, the sticks crunching with moist crispness that makes my mouth water. I step closer.

  Jomicolis looks up. Her gaze searches across the room. Then... she sees me. I gasp, realizing I shouldn’t be here, realizing I’m dreaming.

  I wake up.

  No, I leave the dream, but I’m not awake. I sense a void, trapped somewhere between worlds. I can feel my body, but I cannot move it. I still feel the dream, but I cannot return. My panic is spurned by my acute awareness of both worlds. I fight to force my consciousness back into my body.

  “Wake up!”

  The words echo in my head, causing no effect.

  “Wake up!”

  I feel relief when the sensation of cloth and fluff strikes my face.

  “So you made it back home I see.”

  I lay back and close my eyes, enjoying my sister’s company more than I would ever let on.

  “You shouldn’t leave like that. You had everyone worried.”

  “Everyone?” I ask with sarcasm, opening my eyes to her.

  “Yes,” she replies, seeming about to call me one of her mean names, but she doesn’t, “everyone.”

  “You guys okay?” Mom asks as she comes in the door.

  I smile at Mom, feeling guilty for last night. “We’re okay.”

  “I heard shouting.”

  “Benita was having one of her dreams,” Malane states, but not with as much cynicism as usual.

  Mom gives me a serious look. “I think it’s time you tell me about these dreams.”

  I sigh when she sits with me on the bed. Feeling guilty – like I’m telling someone else’s secret – I scorn myself. I know that it’s all made up in my head.

  “Well, there’s this woman...”

  The streets feel different today, as if I am a visitor here. The people fascinate me, going about their morning duties, some of them traveling to the town center, like us, to buy rations.

  The line starts down the street and around the corner from the large complex. We have all come today, ready to share the load of food and supplies we will purchase. Waiting in line, I force myself to not look up and examine the structures, not wanting to attract Mom’s attention. So I watch the people instead, carrying their supplies back to their tents. Gazing down a side street I find a man staring back at me.

  It can’t be.

  I push past the people that stand in my way, but when I gain view of the street again, he is gone. It was only for a moment I thought I recognized him. It must have been my dream... making me think I saw him.

  I return to my family and shake my head at myself, realizing I’m searching for him in the crowd. Soon the distribution center distracts me from these errant thoughts.

  We line up before the gray-uniformed clerks, separating the crowd into aisles, and take turns putting our forearms under the scanner. I watch as the bright red lights flits over the small, rectangular pattern of bars and numbers tattooed on my arm. The machine beeps successfully and we are allowed in. In the noisy chaos of the center, the clerks divvy out the alloted supplies we have earned. I look up to the high metal ceiling, covered with intermittent light and black orbs. Cameras, I suspect.

  “We have earned enough for some extra sugar,” Mom says with a smile as she and Jarn pick up most of the sacks. Some of it Jarn will trade for spare wires and lights, but that’s not something we discuss here. I stare at the lines of people, watching them scan their arms and request goods. The clerks hurry from the registers to the inside of the complex, passing between aisles of metal shelves and retrieving supplies.

  Leaving, we pass by a policeman, and I notice the rifle he’s holding. Just like my dream... of course, that’s what made me dream of them.

  On the way home I start to feel burdened by the sack, though it’s only cereal, lightly packed in cardboard containers. Each step I take it becomes heavier, until it feels like a sack of bricks. I slow down, take the sack off my shoulder and examine it as I catch my breath.

  My family has left me but... I am not alone. On the side of the street I see him again. This time I don’t take my eyes off him, so he can’t disappear. His face, his brown hair tied back and slightly askew - he was there in both dreams, with the queen.

  “Who are you?”

  His face is kind, but his only response is to motion to the large, vacant lot beside him. It’s piled with trash and debris. I recognize it, since I’ve passed it frequently, but I have never examined it before. My gaze returns to the man and I approach him warily, not afraid of him but more afraid a gust of wind will wisp him away.

  “I think you know who I am,” he states, kneeling to the ground. He clears away the trash on the ground to expose the dirt.

  “I’ve dreamed of you. Your name is Raven.”

  His eyes turn to me, the same color as the dirt with the sun shining on it. He seems pleased I know his name. He looks away and places his palm on the ground. “I see you’ve gotten your rations,” he says as the dirt beside his hand begins to shift, as if something is rising to the surface. Something alive. I step back. “Perhaps I can offer an alternative for your noon day meal.”

  Terrified at what is about to emerge from the dirt, I’m urged to run, but what comes out of the ground is green and delicate. I don’t know why, but it makes me think of the meal that was eaten in last night’s dream. More green shoots emerge, twisting and growing. Flat, jagged shapes emerge from the shoots, unwrap and enlarge, translucent green in the sun. Small capsules form, then split open. Tiny, thin, white fingernail shapes fold out from the center of the capsule. Raven reaches out and picks off the white growth with a snap that makes me gasp back the breath I’ve been holding.

  “Hold out your hand,” he says, offering me the small thing held between two fingers. I open my palm and he releases it, dropping it on my skin. I barely feel it – like a piece of paper smaller than my fingertip. I pull it closer, examining the intricate details: the minuscule, clear hairs, smaller than any wire Jarn uses, the pillars in the center, each covered with fluffy yellow powder. The tiny lines crisscross the sparkling white ovals, just like the lines across the skin of my palm.

  “It’s a flower.”

  Tears form in my eyes, but do not blur my vision. “It is so perfect, so beautiful.”

  “They used to grow all over this land.”

  I pull my gaze away from the flower, wiping my face. I look to Raven, but he is concentrating the green growth on the ground, which is larger and covered with the jagged green shapes and clusters of white flowers. He reaches underneath the green shapes and I see something red beneath them. He plucks it free, like he did the flower, and holds it in front of him. “This,” he whispers, examining it, “is a strawberry.”

  He offers it to me and I gently take it, seeing tiny pale ovals that fill the crevices across its deep red surface. I can smell its sweetness even a foot away. My stomach growls. I feel guilty at the thought of destroying such a perfect thing, but I almost can’
t fight the urge to eat it.

  “Take a bite,” Raven tells me, and I see he’s picked a handful of them off the green growth. “I had to force this one to grow, so it won’t taste as sweet as a fresh one...”

  I don’t need any more convincing. With one bite I realize that everything I’ve tasted up to this point was as flavorless as the cardboard that holds the dry cereal. Even the sugar doesn’t compare to its sweetness.

  Unsure how long I’ve been standing here, relishing the taste, I open my eyes to find Raven watching me. I have so many questions for him, mostly about my dreams, and how much of them, other than him, is real. But he distracts me by handing me the rest of the strawberries, a collection so fantastic that I would do a year’s work free for them.

  “Take them to your family.”

  He is leaving me. But a treasure this great, I can’t help but share it. I hesitate a moment, wondering if I’ll ever see him again. He nods, as if answering my thoughts, and we both turn and part ways.

  END OF SAMPLE

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