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Dreamception, part 4

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If there’s three of us, why hasn’t this other showed up yet? A feeling of unsettlement submerged my mental state. Going through the usual procedure, I open my eyes expecting a new spacious scene. Instead of the usual setting, I am sitting comfortably in a home theater deluxe chair facing a huge screen that was split in two.

On one of the halves, my aforementioned tableaux are playing on repeat while on the other half, there was a short film of how I became a doctor working under the service of the organization ‘doctors without borders’.

I never wanted to work for doctors without borders. The thought never crossed my mind. Then why was there a recorded tape of my service as a volunteer doctor?

I keep asking questions one after the other because I am riled about being in the dark. I am fried. My cognitive abilities are on the edge of short-circuiting.

Suddenly, snatching me out of my gloomy thoughts, my ears pick up a scratching sound followed by a crunching sound. It is as if someone was eating chips. I looked behind me and there he was with a bag of Doritos on his lap, stuffing his face with a palm-full of the unhealthy snack.

  • “I thought you quit on me?”

He ignores me and keeps on munching like a famished ship-wrecked sailor.

  • “Rewarding our bickering with the silent treatment? It does sound like something that I’d do.”

He picks up a can of soda from under his seat, cracks it open, and takes a huge gulp out of it.

  • “Look, man, if there’s any consolation, I didn’t mean to be a prick earlier. I understand the gravity of our situation and I’m willing to cooperate.”

There was something fishy about him. He isn’t wearing his elegant attire. He looks more like a biker. I spot multiple tattoos on his uncovered arms and neck. A sleeveless black leather jacket with nothing underneath it, distressed and ripped-in-the-knees jeans, and black leather boots was his choice of apparel. He resembles a character from the movie Mad Max.

His stare suddenly shifts towards me spooking me a little. Then this maniacal grin covers his face as he’s rising up from his chair and coming down to finally take a seat beside me.

At a closer look, I noticed that he has Three Days Grace’s red X tattoo on the back of his neck, the one that I’ve always wanted since the band became my favorite ever.

Back in high school, that is exactly how I wanted to look like. A certified badass.

  • “What do you reckon mate?” He says, leaning back care-free on the chair.

My mouth drops open.

  • “Why do you have a British accent? And why are you dressed this way?
  • “What are you blabbering about mate? I’ve always had the accent. Sexy ain’t it? And this is how I’ve been dressing since the beginning of my existence.”

I get suspicious.

  • “Right… It doesn’t matter. As I was saying, I’m willing to cooperate. You guide me through this and I’ll do precisely as you say. I’m really not a fan of dying. There’s just so much I still want and need to do with my life.”

He shoves another palm full of chips in his mouth, wipes his hands on his pants, and from under the chair, he produces a bottle of Whiskey.

I am completely struck. Our existence is in danger of perishableness and the dude is about to get drunk. I understand how this particular matter could be stressful to a human being but come on!

He finally speaks.

  • “By the way, mate, you haven’t answered my question yet.”
  • “What do I reckon about what?”
  • “The films playing right in front of you of course. What else would I be referring to, mate?
  • “How should I know? I’ve never experienced any of what’s being displayed on the screen before. Look, man, we don’t have much time left. Will you help me or not?”
  • “Alright, mate. It’s bloody simple. That is your future. You have to choose one of the two outcomes. On your right is your foreseeing future should you choose to pursue your own passions. You’d be able to have it all. The fame, the spotlight, the money, worldwide recognition, the girl, and complacency. Your life would turn out perfectly perfect! Whereas, on your left is your foreseeing future should you espouse your mom’s plans for you. As you can very well see and very well know, she has always wanted for you to become a doctor. You would honor her wishes and become one. After her death, you would join Doctors without borders, in her honor. There will be no money, no fame, and especially no girl. You would dedicate your life to helping those in need, you would die alone but you would still have gratitude.”

He gets up and stands in front of me, bends over at the waist so that his face is inches away from mine, and gives me his maniacal grin again.

  • “What will it be, mate?”

This isn’t happening. I don’t want to become a doctor. The profession is exhausting and boring. Besides, my mom only wishes for me to become one because it would give her something to brag about to people. It has nothing to do with the profession itself. It’s just social-status-related which is totally banal.

As a writer, fitness instructor, professional dancer, and a musician, I can inspire people and embed the idea that anyone can become whatever and whomever they’d set their minds on becoming no matter what. I can be the role model for millions of people around the world. I can be the motivation lots of people need to achieve their hopes and dreams. I can be the next Martin Luther King, the next Dali Lama, the next Gandhi.

My mom would and should be happy for me for achieving so much. She’d be thrilled that her son has made it through all the hardships that I have faced so far. Isn’t that what mothers do?

But what if…?

What if in choosing my own ambitions, I’d lose time that could be spent with my parents? What if I end up neglecting them in the pursuit of my dreams? What if my happiness causes their misery?

  • “Hey could you tell me what happens to my relationship with my parents should I choose the future on the right?”
  • “Sorry, mate. No can do. Brain’s orders.”
  • “Come on, man. This is our life that’s on the line.”
  • “If I try to help you more, I’d vanish. Literally, mate. Sorry. However, we could play the If I were you game.”

I pick up the hint instantly. I give myself credit for being cleverly intelligent.

  • “That would be mighty helpful.”
  • “Well, if I were you I’d go with fame, money, the girl, and the self-satisfaction. I mean, we deserve it, don’t we? We’ve had a rough upbringing. We’ve struggled financially for as long as I can remember and we’ve been working so hard. It’s a shame to waste it all over our mother’s meaningless request. She wishes to see what she couldn’t achieve in us. That doesn’t sound fair, does it? Of course, it doesn’t. Besides, with the kind of money we’d be making, we could give both our parents the best care they could ever ask for. They’d live the rest of their lives comfortably taken-care of.”
  • “When you put it that way, following my dreams seems like the right path to take. Thank you for the insight, man!”
  • “The pleasure is mine, mate! All you need to do now is pull out the tape of the future that you’d like to dispose of and that’s it.”

That’s a relief. I take a couple of deep breaths and head towards the VCR (for some reason, my brain’s going for a VCR instead of a computer). As I’m cutting through the few steps separating me from the machine, my sixth sense starts tingling. Something smells fishy. And it hits me.

Abruptly, all the signs are put together and the puzzle is as clear as filtered piss. The tattoos, the clothes, the British accent, the careless behavior, all of it hit me at once. This is the other.

‘A nasty w*nker the other is’

He warned me about him. He said that he’s no friend of ours, that I should take my guard against him. That means, that he wants me to die and that probably this is a scheme of his to get me to scr*w this test up and end up dead.

But what if the other me is the one trying to manipulate me?

OH.MY.GOD! I can’t deal with this kind of pressure. This is way too much for my nerves to handle. You know what? To hell with this.

I stand in front of the VCR and pull out the tape on the right. Just like that. I chose the way that would make my mom one hundred percent proud of me. I chose to dedicate my life to the service of others. I chose to cleanse myself from selfishness. I chose to commit to a cause higher than celebrity and money.

I chose to be a do-gooder.

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Chapter 3 : Odysseus, The Fever of war.

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The heavy wooden door slowly opened to a vast candlelit hall. My gaze slowly adjusted to the dancing lights as they shimmered and burned on the tall onyx walls. The lack of a throne and the absence of courtsmen were the only things that shifted the thought of it being a room of royalty, yet everything else pointed to such. The hall seemed to go on for miles and nothing indicated an end to it, and what seemed to be a hundred tapestries hung down on either side of me. Their presence was mighty, as the colours of every tapestry were highlighted by the flame of the massive sconces that adorned the walls. They radiated life and I half thought they could speak, until they did.

 

All tapestries were knit with a scene of a heroic story, and as the door closed behind me, the eyes on every character of each story shifted towards me. The silence of the hall broke as they all started to whisper in unison. I must return to Ithaca, shrieked a man on every tapestry that seemed to be a part of all of them. The scene made me jolt with shock, but eventually my ears were accustomed to the murmur of the pictures and I made myself walk to see what secrets they hold.

 

The first tapestry on my right depicted a young man in his early twenties standing beneath a tall olive tree. His long auburn hair draped broad muscular shoulders that portrayed a life of labour and his beard framed a distinctive square jaw. His crimson tunic was tied to his waist with a golden belt and his black hooded cape brushed the hill he stood on as he looked down on a great field filled with cattle.On his back hung a mighty oaken bow with gilded tips and a quiver full of arrows. His eyes flamed with a sense of wits and cunning, and as locked his eyes with mine, he seemed to read into my soul. He smiled amicably as he started to speak.

“Greetings, friend. Do you require guidance?”

“Guidance is the only thing I require. But first, may I ask you who you are? I must admit your appearance is quite puzzling.” I answered, looking forward to his response.

“My apologies.” laughed the man, “I am not the shepherd you might think I am, if only that were true. I am Odysseus, Son of Laertes and Prince of Ithaca.”

“And why does someone of royalty need to tend to goats and sheep?” I asked as my intrigue grew.

“If you spoke to a prince of Mycenae in this manner, they would have your tongue in pieces before the end of your sentence.” replied Odysseus smiling, “But this is not Mycenae. My father taught me to know my land in order for me to rule it. Besides, I grew fond of these fields, the peace helps me think.”

“And what trouble do you have on your mind?” I asked.

“The war, my dear friend. A great war is coming and I am to be asked to hold a vow I took nigh on ten years ago. To be truthful, I am not keen on fighting. I am accustomed to the dull life of Ithaca and I do not wish to die only for bards to sing about me to kings I do not know. Heroic deeds are for the foolish and the mad.” sighed the prince as he answered.

 

But you are dead, I thought as I smiled sadly to the young hopeful soul of Odysseus. I decided not to broach the subject and I started walking down the hall to see the rest of the tapestries. The whispers grew louder as I slowly strolled and looked at the marvels of Odysseus’ life. One portrayed the prince wrestling with a boar that had his tusk thrusted deep into his leg. His first taste of battle, I thought bitterly. Another showed Odysseus with his great bow in his arms and an arrow piercing the eye of a wolf sixty yards away. Quite a man, I remarked and my eyes darted to a tapestry showing two men that looked like nothing but the highest of kings, puzzled at the look of Odysseus as he seemed to feign madness. What war can be so dreadful to make a prince act like a fool? I pondered, then I saw the one right next to it, with the picture of the prince ending his charade as he looked at his young children standing in front of a running carriage.

 

And so Odysseus took up arms and armour and sailed to war. My heart broke bit by bit as I saw the once Shepherd Prince of Ithaca grow wearier and warier as the years turned. His auburn hair started to whiten little by little as new scars marked his body on every new tapestry, each with its own story, and the whispers grew into screams with every step of my walk. I saw him wrestling heroes thrice his size and locked in arms with a dozen warriors. He appeared calm when other kings were in fits of rage and he looked stern when disciplining his men. As the war made other kings into heroes, it made Odysseus into a soldier.

 

I walked further down, witnessing the atrocities of a war that never seemed to end. Visions of dismembered bodies and rotten flesh made my skin crawl as I saw what the gods have inflicted upon the greek. I saw plagues turn kings into hollow corpses and bring the youth to their deathbeds before they saw the world. Dreams shattered and hopes crumbled and Odysseus stood vigil, and slowly his soul kept on fading. 

 

Then I stood staring at the mighty Trojan Horse, standing high on the ruins of Troy. the city burned and Odysseus’ eyes burned with it. The Best of the Greeks, he was named after the death of Achilles, and he wore the title like a badge of honour. The war went on for ten bitter years and what would become of the Shepherd Prince was a matter I was aching to discover.

 

My feet began to pick up pace as I made my way down the hall. I must return to Ithaca, rang like bells in my head, half driving me to madness, and the fires started to dim as Odysseus set sail and embarked on his journey home. I could see a thousand dreams in his broad smile and the laughter of his men, but his eyes betrayed a sense of sadness that I could not understand. Unease pushed me closer to the tapestry and words I did not think to say slipped through my lips.

“Congratulations on a war well fought, Prince Odysseus.” I initiated. 

“I haven’t been a prince for ten years.” he replied, smiling, as his eyes locked with mine. “A decade listening to the barking of Menelaus and Agamemnon and you forget you are royalty. But now all is done and soon, if the gods are good, I once again will be the prince of goats and rocks.”

“May the winds be fair to you and your own.” I sincerely wished, as the thrill of his story made me forget my death and his.

“If they are not, my dear wife Penelope would fight Zeus himself for a fast voyage. God I miss her, and little Telemachus would be a grown man by now.” He daydreamed, and as I saw that the tapestries did not end, sadness pushed me from answering and I walked away from the tapestry. 

 

The whispers started to ebb as I watched his journey through seas that did not seem to end. The tapestries put forth a story that was a harsher hell for Odysseus than the underworld could ever be. His men kept on dying one by one as they fought with cannibals and Cyclopes. Hunger withered their strength and the storms of the Mediterranean Sea sealed their fate. They landed on a hundred islands and none of them Ithaca, as the winds disoriented them like they were toys for the gods. They found kindness in witches and slavery in Nymphs. Sleep was scarce, for Odysseus no longer trusted his own soldiers. A soldier who never left the war, I thought sourly. 

 

As I watched Odysseus turn grey with age and hardship, the black walls of the cave seemed to shake with the sound of pounding heartbeats. I felt like the hall almost came to an end, for the fires almost turned to cinders. Near the end, I was met with a tapestry that would have broken my heart to pieces if I had one. The fates made it so Odysseus was to see the Underworld before his own demise. I saw the Prince of Ithaca on the edge of this hideous realm, surrounded by the souls of all the soldiers that fought beside him. He saw Ajax, Achilles, Patroclus and every warrior lost in the battles of Troy, and all looked more alive than Odysseus. The pounding heart thundered mightily and I knew that the Best of the Greeks carried their memory on his shoulders every way he went.

 

The fires died out on my long march down the hall and I knew he reached the end. Feelings of both grief and thrill rose through me, for I desperately wanted to know if the poor soldier returned to his home. The last tapestry hanging down the walls of Odysseus’ shrine was the biggest, and with it the heartbeats sounded like drums of war. The prince that dreamed of being a shepherd was once again standing on the hills of Ithaca. His hair was bleached with the horrors he endured and his back was bent with decades of loss and sorrow. His battle scars were covered in armour and he could not keep still as he paced around with his rusty sword in hand. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I reluctantly approached the King of Ithaca.

I must return to Ithaca!” yelled Odysseus with the harshest of voices.

“But you made it, King Odysseus, you made it to your home.” I replied gravely.

“No, no, no, not this barren island. This is not my home. The hills, they do not feel the same. I cannot find peace beneath these trees and so this must not be Ithaca. Wherever I run, I hear them. A thousand hearts beating like hammers in my head and I cannot stop them. I cannot stay in these lands any longer. Athena has not called upon me in years and I long for her callings. I prayed and I prayed for peace, yet no god has blessed me, why didn’t they? I was the Best of the Greeks and I must return to Ithaca, Ithaca, Ithaca…” there was madness in his words as he spoke, and I knew Odysseus was no longer.

I jumped away from the tapestry, as my mind can no longer handle the cruel stream of thought that haunts Odysseus through every moment of his death. The war ended in Troy but it lived on in Odysseus, and who were unlucky enough to survive it. He was shaped by battle and broken by grief, and I closed my eyes and prayed long for this soldier to finally find his peace.

 

 

Written by : Hachem Saihi.

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