Dystopian Dream Girl

I had a dream last night

That the world was not ruled by angry old men

Playing outdated politics like team sports

But by the youth

And in all their naive brashness

They ignored the rules

And they fixed us

I had a dream last night

That the world was not driven by endless growth

Of the things, and things, and things that we don’t need

But by human compassion 

And the elimination of suffering

That it made us care for others

And for ourselves

I had a dream last night

That the world was not controlled by religions

With the unlimited ways they teach us we cannot be

But by understanding

And without reproach

They let others live

And we existed together

I had a dream last night

That the climate was not still changing

With the death of our species looming on the horizon

But that when it had changed

And we saw what the future held

The world linked hands

And together, stopped it

I had a dream last night

That my daughter was not controlled by others

Who would limit what they allowed her to do

But was given freedom 

And allowed to makes choices over her body, her mind, her futures

That we saw everyone as equal

And recognized any other way was tyranny

I had a dream last night

And it was only a dream

But that must mean it can exist

We can do those things

If we only dream

***

You wake to find the world is not those things, but their opposite. But instead of letting the crushing realization sink you, as it usually does, you rise above it. For a brief moment, you see the world as it could be, as it ought to be, and it brings you great peace. Besides, there are still moments of sweetness here, in this mess.

A calm breeze blows through the wooden slats that bar the window, and sends waves of delightfully prickly skin across your bare chest. The first cool night in weeks, you think, as you stare through the hole in the ceiling, through the roof, and up into the density of the stars beyond. In the calm light from them, and the silent night, you find a peace beyond humanity.

So when a signal flare arches through the sky, its brilliant light cascading down through the hole above to blanket you in a soft, orange glow, you do not immediately react. For a moment, you stare into the phosphorescence, and imagine a world where admiring color and spectacle is given the appropriate reverence. Then, all your nerves fire simultaneously, and you launch upwards from your sleeping pad.

The war has come back. It will swallow you, like you watched it swallow your parents, your friends, your neighbors. The signal flare is the harbinger of doom.

Scrambling, you pack your gear. If you’re going to die, then that’s that, but if you’re going to live, then you’ll need it. Sleeping gear is stowed, stuffed, cinched. You grab your canteen, it filtered water through the night while you slept and dreamt of a better world. You unscrew the lid and take a lengthy, daring drink, and your parched thirst screams in gratitude. Dying thirsty isn’t high on the list of ways you’d like to go, you spend enough time that way. 

In minutes, you’re out of the remnants of the house you used for camp. You know it backs up to a forest you can disappear into, but now you don’t know who else might be in those trees. So you crouch in the tall grass, obscured from the view of the bright moonlight, and observe. And breathe. And calm your racing heart.

A plain of grass stretches in front of you, swaying softly in the night breeze, and then rises into a hillside. Dark shapes, like blotches of the void, move silently down the hillside in a coordinated pattern. Their path is clear. In less than a minute they’ll converge on the house at your backside. They’ll converge on you.

Fear arches through you, momentarily rooting you in place. You turn to run, to escape, to flee from the death that comes. But you find that you can only move achingly slowly, like you alone are surrounded in wax. When you turn to look at your pursuers, you find them almost on you. You scream.

***

A scream, a cry, and blinding, white light. I wake in my plush, white bed, under layers of now sweaty blankets, to find the noise coming from me. I wake to find the world restored. Reality, harsh only in its unforgiving genuineness, snaps into place around you. Only a dream, then. I stare up at the ceiling where the morning sun pierces across in an angle, and watch dust motes float lazily, suspended by unseen currents.

I’ve had this same dream for months. Or not the same, each night is like a continuation of the previous. Another reality, another me. It’s like a mirror where everything is wrong, upside-down. 

The door opens, sliding noiselessly into the wall, and Sophia steps in. She’s dressed in the simple, algae-cloth overalls that we all wear. Her long, blonde hair cascades over tanned shoulders. I let my eyes linger on that bare skin, and drink her in.

“You’re still sleeping?! Someone’s supposed to go out and dust off the solar panels, you know! Here I was bringing you some fresh fruit from the garden, only to find you’re not even out of—”

While she’s talking, Sophia sets down a small plate of raspberries, crosses the room and sits next to my legs. She’s just close enough that I sit upright, wrap my arms around her, and pull her down into me. There’s laughter, some tickling, and some kissing. After, we both lay and stare at each other in the soft morning light.

“You’re still having those nightmares, aren’t you?” She says, softly.

“They’re not nightmares, or not always.” 

“Only you would live in this utopia and dream of a dystopia every night.” She says, and smiles softly. I know it worries her, this dreaming.

I smile back. It’s impossible not to with her, really. “It’s like another life, a parallel path. Do you think it could be real, in some way?”

“Another life, huh? Is there another me in it, too? Or someone else?” She narrows her eyes playfully.

“No, so far there hasn’t been anyone else in it.” I leave out that I think the other world would punish our relationship. Punish us for existing, for being different, for loving each other. And I leave out the dark shadows that pursued me last night.

“I really wish I knew. Could it be real? I don’t think we understand what real is. If you dream that world every night, and live every day here, which one is real?”

“Sage wisdom, love. You should write poetry or something.”

Sophia rolls her eyes and pushes herself out of my embrace. “Alright, enough philosophy, time to get up. There are chores to be done! The farm doesn’t take care of itself, as much as I might let you think it does.”

She flounces across the room, snags a berry from the plate she left, and turning to wink at me, pops it into her mouth.

“At least in this reality, you have a pretty girl to kiss.” She says, and walks back out the door.

I feel the split as she says it. The divergence of reality where a memory comes up, but it’s from somewhere else. Some place else. Sophia and I are crammed in a basement, the windows blacked out. We’re eating from a can of beans, thrilled at the find. She licks her spoon and says the same phrase. 

I blink the memory, or whatever the hell it was, away, and shake my head. Which one is real, indeed.