False Awakening

• Liam Young, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2013

As my head hits the dashboard, I’m transported to a world far from our
own, and a set of descending stairs lies before me. All is still,
unsettling, and I glance at my watch. The numbers are blurry; where
are my glasses, again?

I descend the cold stone stairs and see an unfamiliar man at the
bottom. Then I remember: I don’t wear glasses. And in this moment, I
realise I’m dreaming. The old man says, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

“You don’t know me?”

“No.”

“You killed me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“In the crash.”

I stare at him anxiously and try to wake up. I can’t.

“Let me out,” I tell him.

“That won’t be so easy.”

“What must I do?”

“Follow me.” And he turns and enters an alley. I follow him into an
unusual darkness, for the sky is white. My guide and I seem to be the
only people around. He rounds a corner and when I come to the sparse
opening, he’s gone, and the floor beneath me opens up and I’m falling
out of the sky.

Wind hammers my face and I can’t breathe. A busy road opens up
before me. My mind is in denial. I’m not going to hit the ground. I
won’t! I start spinning, brace for impact. Then, six metres from a car, I
black out. When I open my eyes, I’m lying in a field of green, and I can’t
move my head. My wife stands in my vision. She stares at me. I try to
move. Then something falls from the sky. It’s a brick – or at least I think
it is – and it’s headed straight for my skull.

I say, “Help me,” but there’s no response. The brick is falling faster,
closer. “Help me, goddammit!” My body is numb. I try to wake – and this
time I do – in an alley beneath a white sky. My dream guide stands in
front of me. His face is white, eyes just empty holes. He’s holding a
knife.

“What are you doing?” I ask. He approaches me. “Stop!” I run the other
way, but a wall quickly blocks my path. I look at the man, three metres
away. “Stop, please!” I grab his wrist and look into the gaping holes in
his face. Then I realize I’ve grabbed the wrong wrist – no, I couldn’t
have, but he stabs me. I feel it all. Then I wake in a bed, but this is not
mine. It’s in the hospital.

I rise from the covers and feel where the knife wound would be. There’s
nothing there, so I enter the next room and glare at the patient in the
bed. His body is covered in medical equipment. A woman kneels at his
side. She’s crying. The man from my dreams stands behind her. He’s
looking at me, smiling. There’s a gun in my hand. I look at him.

But it’s already over.