Prelude

I dream. I dream of days that passed, expurgating it to my convenience and fantasy. I dream of the present and the future. I am a dreamer. I have been caught on many occasions, lost in my catatonic realm, like a parallel universe where I set the rules, the norms, a land of perfection, my personal utopia. People have said that such a hallucination of a perfect place often leads to a clinical psychological disease referred to as split personality. I disagree with it completely. All of us have our secret place, a virtual reality but seldom do we acknowledge. The reality is like a glass box we shun ourselves into; we can see what lies beyond and fail to accept it. Now with the help of some wine and nicotine I boldly step into my world, breaking the shackles of reality, slowly subliming into my lucid reality.

Every story needs a hero, but I ask are not we all heroes in our own way. A HERO is someone who seeks acceptance from a mob who have confined themselves to reality and dare not venture into themselves and seek there true selves for what they are. The folly of the mob is ones heroism. This story begins at a traffic signal. Mr Frank, is on his way to the school he is currently teaching in, St Margret’s. The light is red and as he waits impatiently trying his best to shake off the hangover from the last night. He is lost in a dream.

“What am I going to do today? My tenure is coming to an end, have I made any difference in their lives? Roy and Jamie are full of potential, who am I kidding the entire class has high potential, why don’t they realize it and act more interested? Have I failed in my duty? Why did Meg give me that letter yesterday? Have I treated her any different from the other kids? I should confess she is pretty gorgeous for a 16 year old.”

Just then Frank was disturbed by the blaring of an impatient car horn and realised this was his last chance for the next five minutes to cross. He leapt forward like a bunny in a cross hair. Now he dived back into his world of question. Frank wondered if he was truly tailored for the job. Being in his mid 20’s he spent a lot of time in clubs and pubs, mostly hoping to get lucky or to wash away the pain. The latter was the most obvious; life is not a sitcom where you spill a drink on a girl and date her later, reality is more unfulfilling. He walked fast as he had no time to loose; he knew very well how his class behaved when he was physically present, so not being there could be anticipated. He swore not to come here another day.

Just as he entered the school building and walked down the corridor he was shocked to see a poem on the board he had helped create. All other priorities dissolved. The poem read:

Cometh forth oh freedom
Why thou chastise
Past half a decade exhausted
In ravage and resent defied

Cometh forth oh freedom
Treacheries disguise
Vigor dwindling, pride demise
Speculate why?

Cometh forth oh freedom
Let patience survive
Anxious until thou aid
Resurrect my pride

Cometh forth oh freedom
Can thou deny?
An intense aperture, distant
End of days shall arrive!

Once he read this, he realized that he was not the only one longing freedom from this cube; he was actually the facilitator for freedom. This brought the smile back to his face and he entered his class for another day of mayhem.

to be continued.....