
08-03-2008, 04:18 AM
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Head full of gold
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Join Date: Jun 2007
Location: Athens, Greece
Posts: 877
Total Points: 29,379.43
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[sic] - Part III
Synopsis:A semi-autobiography about a twenty one year old man who wants to stay a boy and refuses to mature. A view on society's standards about growing up. "Shit man, we're becoming our parents."
[sic]
Part III
Okay. No more excuses. This story, this pathetic attempt to find myself and evacuate my body has finally come to an end. I found something to worry about, something that matters to me. It came to me in a vision. Ever heard of sleep paralysis? When you have a lucid dream, a dream in which you know you're dreaming, there's a chance the brain will malfunction. It is aware that you're awake but the muscles still think that you're sleeping, so they have strict orders not to work. In other words, you're awake and paralysed. But with a small difference. You have visions. Illusions. You see things or persons that are not there. Most times it's something frightening that scares the hell out of you. Scientists claim that every person will experience sleep paralysis once in his life. I experience sleep paralysis night by night. I'm one of the lucky few, though. I never see anyone, I just hear someone. It can be my mom, a stranger, a friend. Sometimes I hear my parents arguing; I once heard a man threatening to rape me. I felt him touch my shoulder, too. It's something annoying and can be terrifying. The thing is, I have trained my mind so that I can have sleep paralysis at will. Before the sleep paralysis occurs, your brain relaxes. It's worth going through the paralysis in order to experience this stage. I do it, because it's the most amazing feeling in the world. It beats sex. Your mind travels miles; you see images you'd never see. You hear people talking, having vivid dialogues in front of you. And you're awake. You have full control of your body. It was on one of these nights that I saw Peter.
Peter was a friend of mine in primary school. He was a tall kid who had a thing for lies. If Peter claimed something, you knew he was making it up. Another thing I remember him for is his cheeks. His cheeks were always red, not from slapping - though it could be, I think his father was drinking. Last Tuesday Peter and his cheeks appeared in front of me. He was eating a sandwich. Then he talked. You can't have a proper dialogue. The person's talking and you're replying through your mind.
Vince. Why the hell are you wasting your life? Is this how you pictured yourself as a kid? Pull yourself together and do it. Remember what John used to say? That's right. If it isn't red, it ain't worth it. Go figure. Take a picture of yourself and set it on fire. You know what's cool? Sharks. And clocks. Clocks that tick. A red bag? Yeah, I know it's better.
That dialogue-monologue is the standard thing. It's always obscure, jumping from one topic to another. Random thoughts forced to the back of the head. It's like rolling a dice. A dice with milions of sides. Peter dissappeared and I found myself looking at a dog. The rest is private. The weird thing is, that you normally forget what you heard or what you saw after you wake up. But not this time. I remembered every single thing, every single word, the tone of his voice, his stare. I knew it was time for me to wake up. I wasted my life long enough. It's about time I do what I want. It's time for me to follow my dreams. And since I was an infant I had one single dream.
I'm directing movies. I'm directing movies and I'm good at it. I get an Oscar. Someone calls my name. I stand up, look at my tuxedo; yeah I still wear these beaten, black sneakers. I go to the stage. A red haired lady hands me a golden statue. Whoa, it's heavy! Hey, that's my mom and dad in the audience! Up yours dad! I got an Oscar, what do you have to show? I'm giving a speech. I'm not thanking anyone. I got here by myself. I don't thank the crew, they were doing their job, I'm the boss. I'm not thanking the actors. They should wait for their Oscars to thank people. My family? I curse my family. And I close my rant by saying, "If anyone wants to be in my shoes, in my sneakers right now, you should do it. Follow your dreams. No one can help you. Only you. Look at me. Nobody encouraged me, nobody believed in me and I'm holding an Oscar. So, do not let your dreams die. Put them in life support if you need to, but do not let them go peacefully. Thank you!"
Dammit. When exactly did I euthanise Vince? Why didn't I stop myself from murdering me? I feel like I was sleeping for twenty one years and I finally woke up. Vince wanted to shoot movies. I'm sorry, Vince, I've been kinda busy the last years of my life. You know. No excuses. My slumber lasted long enough. I'm ending this. Vince, I want you to hear me. I'm you talking.
This is flight number 23091986. The weather is good and in about fifty years we're reaching our destination. Exotic Morocco. It's hot in Morocco. But suddenly a passenger stands up and runs to the cockpit. He's holding a gun. We're going to Cuba! Damn, man, Fidel is not governing anymore. Get me to Cuba! Dreams must resemble Cuba. I'm changing course. Please evacuate the plane. You will find a parachute under your seat. Jump off. There's a hole in my parachute. Jump off, I don't care. But there's a hole. You can either jump off or go somewhere you don't want to. That's not your destination. You can risk your life in order to go where you want to, or you can give up and go wherever that pirate takes you. I wear my parachute. There's a big hole. I open the door, the wind is opening wounds in my face. Jump! I open my arms, I take a deep breath and jump. Hey, look at this! I'm not dead yet. Maybe I'll make it. Maybe. I look up. The man who had the gun is waving at me. His cheeks are red. Thanks Peter.
I wake up.
Last edited by Vorcla; 12-03-2008 at 01:57 PM.
Reason: Final edits
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