You wake up. You open your eyes trying
to recall the dream that is right now evaporating rapidly into
reality's thin air and you cannot grasp what it really was about. You
sit up, hand searching for the remote control that slipped on the
floor when you felt asleep last night. You turn on the radio with one
push of a button and in a millisecond you hear Supersonic Man of
Queen tune playing in your head. The song puts you in a right upbeat
mood so you dress up putting on clothes scattered all over the room.
You can hardly find two socks not to mention the matching ones. Let
it be the token of my good mood then, you think to yourself sipping
on an instant coffee. You realize you are already late but somehow do
not feel the rush so you lazily open the door and leave the
apartment.
You wake up. You open your eyes trying
to recall the dream you just had but the Queen's Supersonic Man
hinders any attempts of recollection. You glimpse towards the door
only to realize you yourself is leaving the house. Dressing up
quickly to catch up with yourself to understand what is going on, you
put on unmatching socks and take a quick sip of instant coffee. You
look out of the window checking if yourself is already downstairs.
You see yourself looking around down there as if in a search of
something. You leave the apartment in a rush and so impatiently that
you take the stairs down rather then waiting for an elevator. When on
a street you see yourself across by the bakery buying what looks like
a bagel from where you stand. Red lights and heavy morning traffic
slow you down so you follow yourself to the subway entrance. You go
through a gate swiping your city card looking for yourself. You spot
yourself at the end of the platform. No chance to catch up. You both
board the incoming train but you are couple wagons behind. You push
your way through a thick morning crowd of suited commuters, wagon by
wagon. On reaching the last one you see yourself leaving the train so
you do likewise. Up the stairs you ran pushing angry people aside.
Just before the gates you reach yourself and you grab its arm.
Yourself turns around.
You wake up. You open your eyes trying
to recall the dream that is hard to grasp as reality sinks in. You
sit up, turn on the radio and start dressing to the Queen's
Supersonic Man song. Failing to find two matching socks you settle
for the ones you could find, not bothering much about the
appearances. You sip your instant coffee deep in your thoughts,
missing the fact that you are running late. You leave the house while
having uncanny feeling that you are being watched and for no reason
choose stairs over the elevator. You try to decide whether taxi or
public transport will be the mean of transport of your choice today.
The bakery selling bagels across the street tilts your mind towards
the latter. Going down the subway entrance you cannot shake off the
feeling of being observed. You walk down the platform finishing your
breakfast regretting that you did not get another coffee. The train
arrives and you board the first wagon. Your brain goes into travel
mode and bits and bites of your dream push their way through to your
consciousness. Just when the train is about to reach your station you
spot a man pushing his way through the crowd toward your wagon. For
some unexplained reason you start to think that he wants to get to
you. You leave the train and climb the stairs pushed by the ocean of
people. On reaching the gate and when about to touch out someone
grabs your arm. You turn around.
You wake up. You open your eyes lazily
scanning the apartment, trying to grasp the fleeing memories of the
dream you just had. Normally you would turn on the radio but right
now you could not stand any uplifting tune like Queen's Supersonic
Man. You sit on the sofa and light up a cigarette and while puffing
you down, flat by now, last night whiskey and coke. You close your
eyes imagining yet another dull day in your cubical filled with
pointless memos, presentations that no one pays any attention to,
fruitless meetings and shallow small talks with your quarter witted
coworkers that you after so many years you started call friends. Yet
another day at, what some call, work, in a respected and well known
international company, but what you would describe as embodiment of
hell. The perspective is so depressing that even the thought of
finding matching socks is overwhelming and nauseating. Before you
drift away you force yourself to stay awake and you go to the
bathroom. You wash your face with cold water, which wakes you a
little bit. You look in the mirror and realize that you are black.
Your consciousness assures you that you are white and always have
been and on the second thought you realize that you do not work in
the office either. Well the glass is at least half full then, you
think to yourself and you go to the kitchen, getting another fag on
your way there. You grab, from the drawer, the biggest knife you can
find, cigarette glued to your lower lip. By now you have realized it
is just a lucid dream, or more precisely you are very much convinced
it is, because at the end of the day there is no doubt that in your
mind as to of which race you are. Still the idea of cutting off yours
finger only to make sure you are dreaming borders insanity, to say
the least. You leave the cigarette resting on the ashtray while
putting the knife to your index finger. You apply pressure to the
blade and start to feel excruciating pain.
You wake up. You feel your heart
pounding and slowly, even reluctantly open your eyes recalling the
dream that just has finished. You lift yourself up searching with
your eyes for a remote control when your sight gets fixed on a three
quarter burned out cigarette resting in the ashtray...