Dream of a Missed Life 
By Helen <medusa138@another.com 
Rated: G 
Submitted: November 2001



The lamp on the bedside table left interesting circles on 
the ceiling. The spider's web in the far corner shimmered 
quietly. The dust under the bed sat silently as it always 
had and probably forever would. The quilt was embroidered 
and warm looking, the pillows were matching, but the 
furniture was a mixture of old and new. The curtains blew 
slightly as a breeze floated through the open window. They 
were handmade and matched the quilt.

A woman lay under the duvet, book in hand, but forgotten. 
Her eyes were closed and her hair mussed. Her skin was 
porcelain in the dim light and her hands were small and 
somewhat dainty. The covers hid her satin nightie and her 
varnished toenails. She lay in a double bed, but she was 
alone.

I am alone. Her last thought before sleep overcame her 
stayed within her mind. Alone, alone. Forever alone. She 
was in desert. The sun beat down on the sand dunes and the 
wind whipped her hair. She was wearing a linen wrap and her 
feet were bare. There was no one in sight in any direction 
and only the sky for company. A bird wheeled towards her as 
if jumping out of heaven. It was a dove.

She reached to catch the bird but it flew away elusively. 
She felt an urge to follow, to leave the loneliness of her 
meagre existence and the bleakness of the sand.

She was in the air. In a moment of panic, she felt herself 
fall towards the sand, but somehow she stayed up. The dove 
was ahead of her and she thought she imagined it turning 
towards her, beckoning her to follow. 'I am mad,' she 
thought, 'but I am dreaming.'

It was raining. It always rains in England. She was 
standing on a bridge overlooking a river. Sand coloured 
buildings banked onto it and punters raced sedately up and 
down its damp waters. I've never been here before. A group 
of tourists brushed past her in one direction, a flock of 
happy youngsters, wet but laughing, danced past the other 
way. A car horn sounded, and a cyclist with a wicker basket 
speeded onwards. I am alone. I am in Cambridge and I know 
no one. A bird landed on the stone in front of her. The 
dove. She felt its calling and she was away.

She was floating in heaven. The Earth circled as it had 
always done somewhere beneath her. 'How did I die?' she 
thought. The sun lit up the ocean and darkened the moon, 
the stars shone like she had never seen before. The air 
rushed past her face and she wondered if there was air 
here. Was heaven a vacuum? The dove flew to her face, 
leading her, jogging her memory of things past, of people 
and tears. Why am I alone? This is not right.

She was standing on ice. Crevasses surrounded her feet. How 
am I here? I am not dead. The ice felt cold between her 
toes. The air was filled with perfect snow flakes and the 
horizon ended in snowy peaks. Behind her a rocky gully fell 
away to nothing far below, and in front of her the glacier 
flowed silently and slowly to a finger lake somewhere. 
Where am I? There was no one in sight, but she was used to 
this she remembered. Alone was normal for her. This was 
what she had wanted, wasn't it. But why did this cold 
solitude seem so foreign?

The dove. And then she was in a field. Yellow stalks 
brushed against her arms. The pale blue sky merged 
somewhere with the land. There was a word for this colour 
she thought aimlessly. Spanish. Pardo. She tried to step 
forward but her legs would not move. She was thirsty but 
she could not see water. Is this hell? Where was the dove 
to take her away? The dove. The dove. She chanted the word, 
an incantation to the masses that tripped her up and left 
her on the pavement to come back and take another look. I 
am alone, but it your fault. Is it? You are alone too, 
dove, alone in the skies with nothing but the sun and the 
moon and the stars for company. I have seen your world now. 
Take me home. Take me where?

It all went dark. The sun's light was extinguished in one 
burst and the world was black. The stalks wilted under her 
fingers and her toes sunk into the collapsing earth. 
'Dove,' she cried, 'dove.' And then it ended. The earth 
swallowed her up and was no more.

She opened her eyes with a start. I am dead! I am 
swallowed! She looked around her uncomprehendingly. The 
quilt. A birthday present. The curtains, the chest of 
drawers. The spider's web in the corner.

I am alone. The thought struck her suddenly and then she 
finally remembered. She looked to her side and saw her 
husband asleep beside her. What time had he come back? 
Where had he gone without her?

You are there for me. I am alone. It is your fault my life 
is like this. Let me follow the dove and find reality. She 
whispered his name under her breath and sank back onto her 
pillow.

Claude.