thinkJAZZ.

you see the world in black & white

Visitor number:

05 June 2011

I’ve been getting an array of such vivid dreams that I don’t think I can remember them all. It’s like if I don’t take the effort to remember them, they’ll simply vanish. I’m even starting to think that all my dreams mean something… they have so much in common. I hope I’m not going crazy.

I was part of this group of survivors who were fleeing their country that was being brought down by war. Amongst us were mainly peasants; farmers, blacksmiths, sailors, fishermen and the like. Some of them were my family, and some were people of my village that I knew. So we arrived at this foreign country where we at least had a chance of survival. Most of us were reluctant, and unconvinced that we could actually have a life here in this foreign land. Therefore, there were several who were groaning and complaining and thinking of our homes. Eventually, I got pretty fed up, so I stood up to address the rest of the refugees, many of which were adults and the elderly.

“As of now, we have no home to return to,” I began, “at least if we set up our lives here, we might be able to survive. And remember that we will have each other.”

I guess that made things more positive, and the refugees started working hard, even if everything had to start from scratch. However, what I had not told them was that, I had intended to make full use of this time to garner enough resources and to devise a plan that will bring us back home. I had no intention of staying for far too long.

My dream fast-forwarded to a few years after. Several of the refugees had indeed taken my advice and many had turned out to be successful merchants in their area of trade. When we first arrived, this foreign city had welcomed us with much hostility and now, similarly, they had enforced new sets of laws that would prevent us from leaving, the reason of which I did not know (dreams are funny like that). But somehow, I’m aware of my duty and what is required of me to ensure that my people could return home safely. So I arranged for ships to take us out of this city, while gathering our countrymen to fight for our freedom.

By dawn, people had started piling into the ships that lined up neatly along the docks. There were guards that were sent to deal with us and prevent us leaving, of which me and a few of the mercenaries fought with to buy time for the others’ escape. Just as the last ship finished loading, I signalled the mercenary to board the ships, while I dealt with the remaining guards (which were now growing rapidly in numbers). Arrows were being shot to destroy and sink the ships. A few of them were sunk, which couldn’t be helped, but most of them made it to the open sea. I snatched the last few seconds and dashed madly towards the last ship while being rained by arrows. However, it seemed that I was betrayed; by my own fellowmen. Despite me helping them, they didn’t think I was pure or patriotic enough to deserve returning to my country, especially after I have urged them to make the best of whatever we had here, however foreign. The perceived me as one who had no ties and love for our homeland, and labelled me a traitor. With that, they began to sail off. I was the only one left stranded, with an angry mob of guards after me. I knew I had to get onto the ship… somehow.

So I dashed madly of the pier and dived into the waters. The impact sent me spiralling towards the depths of the ocean, but I soon picked myself up and swam with all my might, panting and all towards the ship. My muscles had started to tire, but I was gaining on the ship… I couldn’t possibly give up now…

The next thing I knew, I was lying on the cabin floor, drenched, and coughing up a great deal of seawater. The atmosphere was sombre, and the only light came from a single dim light bulb that hung by a thin wire from the ceiling. There were other refugees huddled in small groups around me, but they did not seem to care about my existence. Well I guess it’s better than having several enraged refugees coming towards you with pitch forks, demanding for your life. I wasn’t sure how I had managed to survive, or get on board, but a part of me knew, somehow, that it was that same friend who saved me. That friend who appears everytime I’m in some form of danger, only to guide me out of it. How very mysterious. I decided to ascend to the decks for a better chance of drying myself. The breeze was wonderful, with a hint of seasalt in it. And in the distance, I watched as a familiar island drew closer.

***

I’m kind of sick of seeing that same friend over and over and over again. It’s so mysterious. I never really know his face, his appearance, but rather it is the feeling from which I can conclude it is him. To date, I have killed evil witches with his advice, escaped from execution, and dodged missiles with him. I really wish I knew of his identity, then again he could just be a fragment of my overactive imagination.