Mind Game

Flames. Searing fire rolled across the vast wasteland like grass, an inferno savanna. In stark contrast to the flames I saw there was an equally expansive chasm of frost adjoining the flames. A wind alive and savage made a tornado of ice and screams in the midst of the abyss. I was hanging suspended between fire and ice, half my body shrieked for warmth and the other half died indeed for lack of cold. Agony, torment. I don't think I had stopped making some strange noise between a yell and a sob since being hung there. A blade was approaching me slowly, swinging for my neck. Please, let me die!

I awoke. My pillows were torn, the sheets ripped and my mattress soaked with tears and sweat. My breath came ragged to me and my ears pounded with the distress of my heart. No burns, no blackness of the bite of frost nor of the ravages of fire on my body. Hale, sound, whole. Shaking I stood and went to take a shower. Afterward I felt a little better, a little more real and stable. This house centered me, I had lived in it since childhood and every floor board, every swirl of ceiling paint was as familiar to me as the feel of the razor on my cheek. Home, safe.

I got ready for my workday and sighed, I had forgotten about my divorce papers. They were lying on the bedside table, waiting for my signature. Oh sweet Hannah, why? Depressed, I drove to work. What had I done to deserve divorce? I'd been faithful, diligent to work and support her and the kids, and gone the extra mile to stay connected to her and the kids... even after those trying days of making my boss see that my division was making profit. Nothing made sense. Until that letter about a hotshot named Rick and a bunch of convenient excuses about true love.

Before I knew it I had arrived at my designated parking spot. I must have driven on auto pilot, because I didn't remember the trip. Disturbed, I entered the building and said hello to those along the path to my office. "Well lo and behold here's Micky." Said my boss John. Sitting in my chair, drinking a cup of coffee and looking calm, John was never calm. "Good morning John." I said, trying to keep the caution out of my voice. "Sit down Mick." There it was, he only called me Mick when he was about to let a bomb drop. I sat.

An hour later I left the building stripped of my work ID card, building keys, and future. I took some deep breaths so I could resist the urge to scream or cry. No job, no family... What makes a man? What makes a life? Living the American dream... yet now the dream is over and the nightmare has come. Even more depressed I went home. I felt like a robot signing that divorce document, I felt like a dead man already signing my last will and testament. I took a walk.

The sky was dark and promising rain. The wind, like a harbinger of doom cried its banshee howl and pushed against me. My heart was a broken clock, my brain sludge. I was a hollow man. The time was 8:47 PM on Thursday, August the 23rd in the year 2008. My mind was clear, my heart stilled. Dry palms, clean forehead and steady knees accompanied me. I looked at the bottles of pills I had purchased, now all of them empty.

I woke up and the realization dawned on me like an undeniable horror. I was being baked and frozen and cut and the true nightmare hadn't been my suspension amid a fury of elements but the replay of my last moments in life. I looked to my left and another hanging figure said, "Yeah, welcome back. I think it must be the third year you have been here. You are new, it is obvious because you are still a dreamer. That will pass in time. Oh right, forgot to mention this but you can call me Lenin." I keened and wailed, and Lenin laughed and sobbed. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Dt