Dream.

I remember that once, I met somebody who claimed to be my daughter...

I remember that once, I met somebody who begged me to...

    The night was cold and the wind was harsh. The sky, almost eerie with silent stars gazing down on the earth below, had a deep, dark hue of clear midnight. Some may have looked at the night and called it kind, blind with sweet love that masked their eyes. Some may have looked at the night and called it cruel, for the silence it harbored and the way it treated the world with such indifference. To me, the night wasn’t there. To me, the only thing that was there was the freezing asphalt under my bare feet, the blinding, flashing lights of the city, the wind that gnawed on my hair and the tear that was building up in my throat. Absent-mindedly, I wished that I had a snatched a jacket before I ran out. I also wished that I had my wallet with me. If hadn’t ran out. If I hadn’t decided to speak. If I hadn’t dreamed. If I hadn’t...

    The long stream of if’s crowded my brain and fought for space. Already exhausted and not ready to fight myself, I crumbled onto the sidewalk. A droplet of water splashed to my side. However, the night sky was clear was day, peppered with bright, shining stars. It was only then that I finally saw the night sky, despite the hours I had spent wandering on the streets. It was lovely, perhaps too much so. People bustled by my side, glancing at whom they thought was a crazy woman that perhaps lost her way.

Such a lovely night, I thought. Such a lovely street. The neon signs beckoned and called people to visit, the murmurs and laughter hummed in the air, there was warmth, there was love. And midst of it all, me. A speck of gray in this splash of colors. A shadow among the light. Unfit, unwelcome and unappreciated. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong at home, I didn’t belong in the streets, I didn’t belong among these happy, beautiful people... where did I belong? I staggered up, forcing my legs to stay straight. The atmosphere pressed around me, choking me, pushing me out. I had to get out.... But to where? Where can an unwelcome person go? I didn’t want to go back to home yet. The door would be locked anyways, cruel and unrelenting to the one who had passed through thousands of times before. Perhaps, by a miraculous chance, it would be open. Open, and waiting for the escaped prisoner to come back and lock herself up once more. Just the mere thought of it made my heart race with fear. And then what? The words, the sacrifices, the sneers... I, couldn’t.

    I was tired of being somebody’s doll. I was tired of blindly blundering through paths that others pushed me upon. I was tired, just so tired. Even running away, trying to escape, took effort and strength. It was something that I did not have. Exhausted, my legs gave out under me and I fell onto the ground. There was a fountain behind me, benches and trees all around. My unconsciousness had led me to a park. The park. The place of so many tales that my mother had told me about...

    The night, the people, the light faded as I slipped into one of my memories. There was me, young, innocent, sitting on my mother’s lap as she told me her sweet stories... My dear, that park is special, she used to say. There, I met your dad... There, he proposed to me... There, I almost lost you. Then, I would ask - why? It was always the same stories, yet I was never tired of them. My mother had enjoyed the attention too. Holding me closer to her, she would whisper - When I was pregnant, I met somebody who claimed to be my daughter... I can’t remember what she said, but... You know that the fountain is in the middle of the park, right? It’s quite really fancy, and there are stairs leading up to the fountain.. Well, I fell over. I rolled over the stairs... I could’ve lost you right then and there. I’m so happy I didn’t. If your father didn’t catch me then...

    She said she was happy that I lived. Perhaps she was then, but not anymore. I looked down at the stairs below me. I vaguely wondered how much it would hurt if I fell down. Probably not enough to die. How blissful it would have been if I was not born at all. Only if... only if. Somebody, who had been sitting nearby, suddenly stood up. I jolted at the unexpected movement, not having noticed the person until then. The person was wearing a black hoodie, and from where I was sitting, it was quite difficult to see the face under the hood. The lean, light limbs seemed to be those of a teenage boy, but there was also a faint grace to the movements that hinted there was a girl under the shadows. The teen nimbly walked down the stairs, seemingly unaware of a pocket watch that fell out of the jean pocket.

    Well, at least I was aware of that.

    Alarmed at the teen’s ignorance, I picked up the pocket watch and ran after her, or his tracks. There was a lot of people that bustled to and fro, blocking the way and masking the location of pocket watch’s owner. It was indeed a lively night. Half frustrated and half dumbfounded, I thrust my arm through the crowd and yelled at the top of my voice.

    “Hey! Sir! Ma’am! You! You dropped your watch! Hey?!”

    Unfortunately, my voice did not penetrate the thick noise of the streets. I was left alone, again, at the edge of the park, with a pocket watch in my hand and a sneer on my lips. I had lost my own way in life, yet I still struggled to help another person. As if I had that kind of privilege to care. As if I had that kind of energy to spare for another person. Maybe it was destined that I failed. Sighing, I looked down at the watch in my hand. It was a beautiful thing, a piece of art. The case seemed to be made of gold, and when I opened it I could see ornate patterns embossed within. Despite being dropped there was not a single scratch or dent anywhere. Intrigued, I pulled on the crown.

    Silence. I would never be able to forget that moment. The stillness, the eerie feeling of death, the lack of life, dawned upon the night. Out of the blue, I remembered the theory of absolute zero in Kelvin - the degree in which it’ll be so cold that the atoms themselves will be frozen still. Well, I had frozen the time. Perhaps the only way to reach absolute zero degrees. Gulping down air, I pushed the crown back in. Instantly, the sound of life, murmuring, laughter, lights, flooded the night once more. People walked to and away from me, completely unaware of the miracle that just occurred. Nobody knew. Except for me. Maybe I did really go crazy. Maybe, I was only dreaming. Doubting my own eyes, I wound the clock forward. I stayed still. The world didn’t. I wound the clock back. I, again, stayed still. The world... rewound.

    What if I was crazy? What if I was dreaming? It didn’t matter. If only I could do what I wanted to do. I wound the clock back, back, back, until I reached the fateful night, the night when my life was almost erased before it was written. It was meant to be. It had to be. After all, my own mother had told me, from her own lips... The me from the past, or more appropriately, the future, had failed. This time, I would not fail again.

    I wound the watch backwards, back, back, round and round. The world itself seemed to spin with the clock hand, moons rising and falling, suns brightening and darkening, stars gleaming and fading... Time, for a moment, seemed to dissipate into the thin air, leaving only the jumbled present behind. Then it came again. It was a clear night, not unlike the one that I had just left. The moon was shining with a silver smile, the stars a little bit brighter, the air just a little bit frostier... but I was there. Leaping over hundreds of nights and days of tears, I have arrived to erase the future from time itself. I slowly walked up the steps. There was the fountain, shinier, newer, more vibrant. And in front of it, was my mother. Harboring me within her womb, it was before time had taken its toll upon her... Still radiant and beautiful with life. Oh, mother, how harsh time has been upon you. Upon both of us.

    I stood in front of her. Looking down at her, I suddenly realized that my mother, was a petite woman. She had always seemed so tall, so powerful only hours ago... or, more appropriately, years in the future. But now, she was so tiny, almost fragile. She was, she looked, lovely.

    “Hi...mom.” My voice cracked. What a fool I was. I slowly set down, making our heights even. Where should I start? My mother, mother-to-be, stared blankly at me, probably wondering why on the earth a madwoman was calling her mom. I continued on, without giving her time to speak.

    “Do you believe in starting things that you know it’ll have a bad end? You know, kind of like Romeo and Juliet, you know that they’re going to die but you read it anyways... No, that’s off the point. What I want to say is that... Mom, I love you. I have always loved you and will love you. I can’t not love you. Time is a cruel thing, mom... It takes away our loved ones without mercy. Time took dad from us.”

    Heat rose to my face and I realized that I was about to cry. But I mustn’t. Before I couldn’t talk anymore, before my voice was submerged with tears, I had to tell her everything. I had to persuade her. She had to know. I babbled on faster, more urgent, my words crashing against each other and falling senselessly into the air.

    “And you... you couldn’t accept it. It was really hard... Living, just surviving, got hard. There was so much pressure on you... and on me. Dreams, weren’t stars to be reached for anymore. Dreams, were dreams because they couldn’t be... real. I had to see, mom, I had to see. I had to see what I can and can’t do, what I should and shouldn’t do. I wasn’t allowed to dream, only to follow. Because the world is harsh to those who dare to dream when there isn’t even time left to sleep.”

    Oh, mother, did you know? You used to love my art, my dances, my songs... You used to call me your little artist, the one who paints the world brighter. Oh mother, do you remember? Do you remember the day when you screamed, that art only feeds the dreams while our stomachs go hungry? Oh, mother, do you? But you never will now. You will never, ever have to endure all of that again. Mother, you’ll be free. Free of me.

    “Mom, please. I wanted to dream. I wanted to dare. I wanted so many things... so many things that I can’t get. Mom, my world is falling apart. I’m slowly losing my ground. I can’t think what life is worth if you can’t dream. Mom, I don’t want to live in the world that I can’t dream...that tells people to not dream...that punishes the people who dreams...”

    “Excuse me, but honey -”

    “Please, mom. One favor. Just one. Please, please don’t give birth to me. Please. I don’t want to live. I don’t want to go through this. I am tired. I can’t. Mom, I can’t.”

    How frightening I must have looked! Disheveled hair, thin clothes, dirty feet, with tears streaming down the face... How odd and queer I would have seemed to others! My mother stared at me mutely. I waited. I wanted to hear her speak, I wanted to hear her say no, that was not true. I wanted her to lie, if possible, that she was never going to allow those awful things happen. I wanted her to say, to tell me, to never stop dreaming. I wanted her to say that my life was still, still...

    But she didn’t. Her heavy silence weighed down on my body. Suddenly, I felt the fatigue of night. What was the point in trying anymore? Why did I try? Why didn’t I push her off the stairs, like I should have done from the very beginning? I roughly grabbed by mother by her arms and pushed her into the crowd. There was a short scream, rather out of surprise than fear. Her feet failed to find support, and she fell, fell, fell through the air, almost like a feather plucked from a bird. There was a loud scream, this time from the crowd. People were calling 911, shouting for help, for any kind of help... 

    And I crumbled against the fountain, dropping the watch and watching it slowly roll away...

    ...Until it arrived at the feet of a men who was staring into the crowd, as if he was in a dream. As if he was refusing the reality. I knew that man. He was the one who put band-aid onto my knees when I fell from the swing. He was the one who loved to sing the blues, which fitted well with his mellow tone... He was the one who time took from me, from mom.

    The men slowly bent over, and picked up the pocket watch. And the only thing I could do was watch helplessly was I lay dying, as I was being erased from time itself.