Prequel to A Dream

Prequel to a Dream -Tyson B. Troxel Once upon a time, he was everything and nothing at all. It was as if he walked right out of a western movie. All he had left were the memories of a better and a worse yesterday and yet no hope of a brighter or better tomorrow. And he looked up and saw his father looking down onto him, from heaven. He was almost sure he could see tears in his eyes. His father holding out his hand. And the son silently thanked him. The father could only thank his son for giving his life and bringing his love into the world. Walking down the dusty trail, wearing his faded cowboy hat and his duster that had seen better centuries; he took off his boots and sat down. Did he ever think of a day when the world would close in on him and there would be no hope of a future? All magic was lost and a cool wind blew a tear down his face. How long had he walked so far from his home? That park in another time and place, where he could lay in the cool grass and dream a thousand restless dreams? His path led him straight, into yet another time and yet another place and still he must walk on. Never stopping. He looked up and asked his father to take him from this. And this too must pass. He drifted into sleep. Remembering that night. That night where he owned a club. That long lonely summer night where everyone came to dance. The dancing never stopped. Everyone came to his club to feel the feeling. The dancing was merry and it never stopped. It must have been decades ago. He was ontop of the world and he never stopped smiling. It was one nonstop party and the night never ended and the dancing never stopped. Oh the memory of that moment. Dancing, dancing, dancing…..Never stopping. And the lead guitar and the drums and the keyboardist. The saxophone really wailed and the magic never stopped. Or what of that time in Egypt? It just seemed like heaven. As if it was only a dream. A thousand dreams of yesterday and he was Egypt. The long long walks in the desert and all the talks of long ago. He could only remember and feel happy. It was always joyous and still sad, so sad. The memories of long, long ago’s and never a care for anything else. Egypt was his home for a time and he was king. There was much dance and many tales, too many tales. Egyptians and their walks into the night. Spring was always in the air and it never snowed. It was a much better time. And what of that endless fire on the mountain. It never went out and no amount of water or rain could kill the fire. It was the most dangerous fire of the century. It was defiantly something different and he saw her in it. She persuaded him to enter in. She was a witch and he loved her. It was all for her. All for her. He would kill for her. He started the fire for her. All for her. And the fire never went out. She desired him and he was mad for her. She persuaded him to enter in. He only set the fire higher and higher. The whole mountain was on fire. Soon too was the world. She desired him and he was mad for her. But, alas, that was another time and another place. Those days he never slept and she never stopped singing. Oil fell from heaven and he bathed in it, as if it was golden honey. The lights slowly shone on him. Smoke filled the stage. Just him and his baby grand. With each note, you could hear it from far far away. He played on and on, louder and louder. All of his passion pounded out every note. The music from the baby grand hypnotized him and he played on. Louder and louder and louder, banging the keys harder and harder. The melody was soft and sweet and so loud that it woke the dead from a far away planet. Romance filled the air and she came walking in. A wind blew in and her dress sailed her across the floor. He played on and on, louder and louder. His fingers bled and the music only became more and more of a beautiful melody. And he only played on. Running and running. Raining, never stopping. He raced and raced along the ocean’s edge. Further and further down the beach. A terrible nightmare and he could not wake. Raining, never stopping. Days and days, waves crashing in a hellish fury. There was a devilish music in the air. Louder and louder. Lightning striking all around. And yet he ran and ran, faster and faster. The beach never ended and her screams grew louder and louder. She was dying and he was running faster still. California gold. Fall time in the air and he went for a long walk. There was no hope left. She was dead a thousand years and no church would let him in to pray. He was a marked man and he just kept on dreaming of her. It was always fall in California and the pain never went away. He could never drink enough to make her disappear. He just kept on walking and dreaming. Hippy days and there was no peace for him. Never peace for him. He was a wanted man. Ireland and this is the end. He awakes and it is dark. So so damn dark. No place for him and no one to love him anymore. It’s always night and the stars no longer shine. His gold cross round’ his neck no longer shines. It only fades. His heart grows heavy and weak. Ireland is the end. His trail is over and his time is done. All of this can be yours and yet he wasted it all. It is always night here and he has no more hope. No more nothing. He only wants to feel something. And then he wakes……