He had been so unsettled by the dream that he had forgotten
his lucky coin. In the dream he lived in
a small room in a large city. When he
stepped into his room, a snake slithered
out of his laundry hamper. The snake was
gold and black, but what was most noteworthy was that it had two heads. Each head reared back and poised to strike
him and he stood paralyzed in fear. He
knew he needed to retreat, but he couldn’t.
His muscles would not respond to his mind’s command. He stood stiffly awaiting the inevitable
bites from the two snake heads. Suddenly
his dog appeared, grabbed the snake and thrashed it. Blood sprayed around the room, much more
blood than should have been possible from a creature that size. It covered the room, slowly dripping down the
walls, pooling around his feet. His
blood soaked dog wagged his tail triumphantly and gazed up at him awaiting
approval.
He backed out of the room horrified. He had to get away. He slipped down a flight of stairs
in panic and left the building. It was
snowing. It was confusing. The weather was warm, a nice summer
evening. Yet it was snowing. The street was an industrial street,
completely empty. A pair of headlights
flipped on just out of clear vision. It
was an old van. The engine came to a
rough start. He could hear the gears
shift into drive. It drove towards him,
picking up speed. The snow flurries
serenely fell like a child’s snow globe. The
van came to a screeching stop right in front of him. A bald man with one arm was in the driver’s
seat. His face showed extensive damage
from burns. The driver glared at him. The man opened the door and
struggled into a cruel looking apparatus for his legs, which were only stumps
cut above the knee. The metal feet of
the walking device clicked on the pavement as the man moved towards him with great
effort. The man stopped just short of
him. With his one arm, he reached into
his front pocket. He pulled out a coin
and handed it to him. “Here’s your
coin. You almost forgot it. You are going to need it.”
The dream had been so real, so richly detailed that it was
like an event from the previous day. He
readied himself for work on autopilot struggling to make sense of it. It consumed his thoughts as he walked out of
his house. He stared into his phone as
he walked to the train station, searching Google for dream analysis
websites. Each site contradicted the
last. He struggled to assess meaning to
the various symbols from his subconscious.
It was useless. There was a
fortune teller that had a small storefront across the street from the train
station. He thought about what it would
be like walking up the stairs to the fortune teller, knowing it would smell
like incense. That would be the smell he
would forever associate with how he got suckered by a fortune teller and
confirmed that he was a fool. Still,
maybe she knew the answers.
He looked at his phone for the time. He could call in late to the office. Blame a delay on the national rail
system. He tried to estimate what the
fortune teller would charge him. It
couldn’t be more than $50. He didn’t
carry much cash. It was rare that he had
$50 on him. He reached into his pocket
for his wallet to assess the situation.
This whole thing was a crazy idea, but he was suddenly excited. This would be an adventure. His excitement turned to dread. As he reached into his pocket he noted the
lack of a familiar weight. In the fog of
his morning, he had forgotten his lucky coin on the small dish by his night stand. He stood perfectly still on the bustling
sidewalk. Other commuters brushed past
him. He knew he couldn’t risk the rest
of the day without his coin. He would
have to go home to get it. He was going
to need it.
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