Tuesday, September 30, 2008

The Sandstorm

Trigger. Shoot. Kill. Do it. You can do it. You have dreamt of it the whole last year. This is your moment. You are the hero of this movie. No one can even come close. This is your story. You have no other option left. Don't lose focus. It's simple. You just have to close your eyes and pull the trigger. The gun will do the rest. You cannot chicken out now. You have to do it. If you don't do it now, you'll never be able to do it, and you'll regret it your whole life.

Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. I am sweating hard. The fan is running with all the torque it's got. I can even smell gunpowder. But what was that all about. Who got that bullet. You know how you don't usually remember your dreams, its for good. Because if you are having the most exciting dream of your life, and you are thrown out of the theater mid way, there is nothing more irritating. I definitely killed somebody. I was in a big, strange room. It was octagonal in shape, walls so white, they glowed. It was empty, except for a giant mirror on one of the walls. And there was definitely one more character in the story. It was standing behind me with it's hands and legs tied somehow. It could not move. Either I could not see it's face clear enough, or maybe I don't remember it.

I had the gun in my hand. A voice was encouraging me to shoot. I am pretty sure it was mine. The gun was not mine. But still there I was, with the gun, and I shot somebody. It cant be my Chemical Reaction Engineering professor, I've seen many bad papers through my life, never once have I wished to kill the teacher. It cannot be the mid semester, in some freaky impersonating way. I have not done that bad. It was definitely not a 'she'. She can be a bitch sometimes, but I wouldn't shoot her for that. I, by default, am a non violent person. Not the kind that will get a kick by shooting someone for no reason. I am getting frustrated. May be I have gone a little cuckoo in my head, but this has become really important to me. I need to know what the dream meant, I need to know who was the 'other guy'. I am a little frustrated, maybe I will try to sleep some more and complete the missing links.

What the hell! How the fuck did I get here. Blinded by the sudden flash, I can not see anything clearly, but my intuition told me I am in the room again. I try to find my feet while my eyes try to adjust to the shining white walls of the room. I feel dizzy. Slowly regaining my balance, I should start thinking, I think. My hand feels cold. I can feel the cold metal against it. I am in the same room. But this is more real. Like a movie. Everything is so solid. I can touch and smell things. I am a little scared by now. The blood in my veins is turning cold. The dizziness is not yet gone. I think I am going to throw up. That would be embarrassing, even by the imaginary room standards. But wait, where is the guy I was supposed to kill? If I am here, I am here for a purpose, and I will fulfill it.

I see him now. He is on the other side of the strange octagonal room. Tied up on the chair, unable to move. I hold on to the gun tightly. I will go over there and finish the job. And that will mark the end of this nightmare. There is still a little doubt in the back of my head. But I am going through with it anyway. With a gun in my hand, a firm resolve in my heart, I walk to his end of the room. The sight of the man's face breaks my resolve and turns it to fright. The face has a steely expression, kind of like mine. It is scarred, burnt. His eyes are closed, but I still am sure that he can see that I have come. He is looking at me, I don't know how. His eyes are still closed. "At last, you are ready. Come, fulfill your destiny." His voice, his voice sounded familiar, like the one I heard in the dream. Then, it struck. The voice is mine. Everything is blank again. Nothing makes sense. Why am I sitting on the chair. If it is me on the chair, them who am I. And am I supposed to kill myself. Questions were clouding my head. Nothing was clear. The voice was more imposing this time,"Do not think. You don't understand, just shoot me and you will be happy." I don't want to fight anymore. My head is throbbing with pain. I close my eyes and pull the trigger.


Right then. Click. Shoot. Bam. Game over. A sudden adrenalin rush, I wake up. This time, I am not sweating. I am cold. Shivering. My head hurts. I try to find a meaning in all this. Why did I just killed myself? But I guess I should stop thinking.

Lesson for the week

My autobiography would have all that takes to be a bestseller. But with my face on the cover, no one would buy it.