Invader 
Post by SilverSergyon13 on Oct 13, 2005 23:00:13 GMT -5
This story was conspired while I was driving into NY for the Pigeon show. It was pouring buckets of rain and there were people hydroplaning all over the road. The story actually began as an idea. I wanted to express the idea, but had no other way of doing it other than writing this short story. I like it because you have to come to a lot of conclusions about what it means.
Mitch was a dreamer and a philosopher. He feared death, but not death itself or how he would die. Nay, he feared what would become of him, of his soul, after he had died. He thought of this often and often he would come up with no answer. Was there an answer? He would wonder on those cold restless nights when sleep would not come. Those cold…dark nights…
One night he had a dream. It was no ordinary dream, but rather the type that hits you like the reality, without any known physical meaning. The dream took the billowy form of a dead man’s soul, slithering throughout his mind, not failing to invade every crevice of the subconscious. Hours, minutes, seconds…all melded together. Slowly, very slowly, the soul took the shape of an animal. It happened so sluggishly that the seer would presume the action one of normality, not bothering to take a second glance of assuredness. The man was animal and the animal was man. The man had died…
Mitch sat up quickly in bed. Had he comprehended the dream? Had the dream really happened? He himself did not know, but thoughts and visions of this dream floated in and out of his consciousness like specters in the graveyard during the following week. At one point in time it all made sense, only to quickly vanish and leave him as clueless as before.
A few weeks later, Mitch was driving down a dark, country road. There were no lights other than those of his car to guide his way and the path was still disguised in a thin layer of water from the afternoon’s rain. Taking a turn too quickly, Mitch’s car hydroplaned and was sent out of control into a near by ditch. The ditch greedily swallowed the car up, not bothering to release its human captive. The car was reduced to nothing more than a heap of mangled metal twisted here and there like a mad artist’s sculpture.
A crossing fox paused in the center of the road. His bright yellow eyes dilated to their capacity as his head turned towards the wreckage. A glint of light from car’s headlights caught the animal’s eye and reflected into the vast nothingness of those desolate woods. Hours, minutes, seconds…all melded together. The animal was man and the man was animal.
Suddenly the catastrophe held no further interest for the animal, as he turned away and continued his night time venture through the woods. His dense, silky fur billowed gently in the midnight breeze.
Mitch was a dreamer and a philosopher. He feared death, but not death itself or how he would die. Nay, he feared what would become of him, of his soul, after he had died. He thought of this often and often he would come up with no answer. Was there an answer? He would wonder on those cold restless nights when sleep would not come. Those cold…dark nights…
One night he had a dream. It was no ordinary dream, but rather the type that hits you like the reality, without any known physical meaning. The dream took the billowy form of a dead man’s soul, slithering throughout his mind, not failing to invade every crevice of the subconscious. Hours, minutes, seconds…all melded together. Slowly, very slowly, the soul took the shape of an animal. It happened so sluggishly that the seer would presume the action one of normality, not bothering to take a second glance of assuredness. The man was animal and the animal was man. The man had died…
Mitch sat up quickly in bed. Had he comprehended the dream? Had the dream really happened? He himself did not know, but thoughts and visions of this dream floated in and out of his consciousness like specters in the graveyard during the following week. At one point in time it all made sense, only to quickly vanish and leave him as clueless as before.
A few weeks later, Mitch was driving down a dark, country road. There were no lights other than those of his car to guide his way and the path was still disguised in a thin layer of water from the afternoon’s rain. Taking a turn too quickly, Mitch’s car hydroplaned and was sent out of control into a near by ditch. The ditch greedily swallowed the car up, not bothering to release its human captive. The car was reduced to nothing more than a heap of mangled metal twisted here and there like a mad artist’s sculpture.
A crossing fox paused in the center of the road. His bright yellow eyes dilated to their capacity as his head turned towards the wreckage. A glint of light from car’s headlights caught the animal’s eye and reflected into the vast nothingness of those desolate woods. Hours, minutes, seconds…all melded together. The animal was man and the man was animal.
Suddenly the catastrophe held no further interest for the animal, as he turned away and continued his night time venture through the woods. His dense, silky fur billowed gently in the midnight breeze.
