The underground library station.

December 8, 2010

 

 

I had a strange dream last night:

The warm, but dying glow of old librarian lamps meekly filled the darkness surrounding the desktops spread out across each side of the tracks.  This was an abandoned underground train station that had been halfway transformed into a makeshift library of sorts.  Worn shelves that had been exposed to more chaos than they were meant for lined the walls.  It was somewhat tranquil, surprisingly.  The sounds paralleled that of a grand library–the echoes of a cough, pages turning, and books thudding on the tables.

I set a small pile of books I had picked out on the desk and walked toward the tracks to cross to the other side.  A strong wind blew in from the southern tunnel and the lamp on my desk went out with the noise of a popping lightbulb.  An eerie energy emanated from the wind, giving me goosebumps.

I heard a scream on the next wind gust that came right at me; it was not audible, but I could hear it in my mind.  I stumbled back as the gust collided with me, carrying something with it that went into my body.  Whatever it was, it must have knocked me from myself as I was now watching myself in third person.  I collapsed onto my knees, covering my head and laughing slightly, my muscles twitching.  Someone approached me to see if I was alright and I shot to my feet, boring into their eyes with mine and lifting each foot alternately.  They screamed and ran toward the desks, causing others to look up at me and scream as well.

A dark green mist exploded from my body in every direction and I began to levitate, palms facing the dirty, concrete floor.  My body shook back and forth at such a speed that my outline became somewhat of a blur and my eyes lost the white and black of the pupil in them, turning completely blue.

A train horn sounded in the distance in the midst of people running in a panicked state and others hiding wherever they could.  A laugh escaped my throat that sounded like crumpled paper rubbing up against a piece of sandpaper.  The train came barging down the tracks through the tunnel and slammed into me.  Everything stopped for a second, filling the air with the sound of crunching metal, shattering glass and more people screaming.  It resumed in slow motion with sparks flying from the train wheels, the train cars jack-knifing, and stacks of books and papers on the desks bursting outward in every direction.  I slammed my fist into the front of the train and time resumed its normal speed.  It stopped dead in it’s tracks and went as limp as a locomotive can go when suddenly stopped after hitting an object at over 100mph.

Still levitating and feeling stretched very tight, I looked up at the faces staring at me–expressionless.  The desk that had my books on it earlier was in flames and I could not move.  I was terrified and could not will my body to do anything, as it was not in my possession anymore.  I woke up.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s