I was walking down an aisle of a library stopping here and there to browse a book. The nearly haunting color of cherry wood federal style bookcases punctured quite a contrast to the brightly lit windows. It was chilly.... a light frost that morning... which just covered the corners of all the panes. The air seemed incredibly stale and thin. You could nearly taste the yellowed fibers of paper listing in the air. I pulled the throat of my tunic close.

Something was wrong and I rung my hands. It was a fit of discontent and pensiveness. The years of change reflected in the dull marble floor as I glanced down. I could feel stirring within me. I was pending emasculation to stand in time and never move. Never fight. Never win. Just to float along like the useless untiring dust in the air. To what cause and what formidable goal would it be? Silence was becoming the enemy and honor was at risk.

Farther I walked down the aisle and was blinded by the sunlight pouring in one window.


"Starboard side, lash the riggin' and sto'l the mai'sails! Nevermind the quarterdeck!!" They fitfully started lashing the rigging in the storm. Less the brilliant flashes among the topsails everything looked no brighter than a pewter button. Swells were 30 feet high and the temptest roared its breath upon the commodore and his ship. The stinging spray gave no grace to the men. Some men on the deck slipped from the rigging on their way to the topsails, and were washed with angry sea foam to the other side of the quarter deck. The commodore looked up at me and bellowed an order that spoke vicarious truth and trust..... "COME ON!!"

I rubbed my forehead and kept walking between the bookcases towards the west wall. I brushed it off as some fleeting memory and kept walking. The wind picked up slightly and the barren winter twigs cast dancing shadows upon the floor from outside. Funny. I could taste salt. I stopped for a moment and leaned against a bookcase slightly distressed.

High up in the topsails where men were frantically pulling in canvas, a buckling came loose with a loud snap and shot down below hitting me in my shoulder. Above the howl of the wind, my ears started ringing and I quickly saw crimson running down my arm. The pitch and yaw of the ship knocked the brass monkey of cannonballs across the quarterdeck knocking me and several other men down. I grabbed my shoulder and sat up to watch the cannonballs break through the bridging rail into the ocean. I couldn't draw a breath as hard as I could from landing flat on my back. Sitting up on my elbow I felt the curl of a calloused hand jerk me to standing.... It was the commodore staring furiously into my eyes.." COME ON!!"

I shook myself again realizing that whatever had happend left me with a piercing pain in my shoulder. I could still taste salt and had begun to sweat. I looked over towards the other side of the aisle and spyed a comfortable looking chair. Sitting down I figured I looked incredibly foolish sweating and breathing heavy. I looked down the long hallway suprised that no person was browsing the books. Nothing but the dancing shadows entertained the silent hall.

Something inside the commodore brought me great fear. He commanded great authority and I didn't think I had the ability to do all he requested.To be a failure in the eyes of such a man would be great shame. He kept calling me to .."come on!... Come ON!" What the heck was that about. Why should such a man haunt my very concious forcing me into his reality instead of mine! Why did he keep calling me... Why? To what good was a wounded man knocked of breath among the temptest storm?

So I woke up this morning and was like.. HOLY FREAKIN COW did I dream that foreal? I got in the shower and left the house. Pretty freaky eh?