Defiance
by Alokananda Ghosh

It came to me in a dream. A fit of madness, really. There were shapes floating all around with what looked like sharp teeth on every edge. They flashed bizarre colors every which way, reflecting off each other as they danced. But this was before I was noticed.
    One particular shape caught my eye. As soon as it did, it made a beeline straight for me. A sudden paralysis gripped me and I found myself mesmerized by its blinding hues. I cared not that the thing zooming at me would surely kill. How I even knew that it would, I didn’t know.
    And just as suddenly, I woke up. Before I met certain death in my own dream, I was awakened. I knew not by what. And then I had a thought. If I hadn’t wakened, would I be dead?
    I do not know what dreams portend. We don’t seem to have much control over them as far as I can tell, though I have a friend who claims to be able to control dreams and thus, control the future. I have not told him about this dream or the fortuitous way I woke up. I guess I am afraid of what his reaction might be.
    I am no stranger to close encounters with death. Death and I have done the tango many times, and slow-danced on occasion. Indeed, I wasn’t even supposed to live this long. They say I’ve beaten the odds, but I don’t think you can ever really escape if the Grim Reaper has marked you next on his list. I cannot be sure where I fall on his order of people to visit on any given day. That’s probably why I try to make every minute count.
    There was a traffic accident just outside my apartment that was blocking the entrance earlier. An apparent hit-and-run. By the time I arrived home they were carrying the corpse away in a stretcher. I would be lying if I said that the tiniest frisson of fear didn’t course through me. On my way home I had had a sudden craving for butter pecan ice cream. I went to my favorite ice cream store that was at least ten minutes in the wrong direction. Or perhaps it was the right direction. If I had come home minus that seemingly inconsequential detour, I could’ve been the one in the body-bag. Or then again, maybe not.
    That night I dreamed again. This time the shapes were without teeth, but had glowing yellow eyes in the center. I clearly had no chance, because they couldn’t help but see me. But something else was attracting their attention. It took me a second to realize that there was another figure in that dark, airless room I had visited for the second time. It rose up from a coffin, wrapped in a body bag and pointed an accusing finger at me. “You were supposed to come home at five,” the eyes clearly telegraphed. “I hope you enjoyed the hell out of that butter-pecan!” I woke up screaming.
    I confess that I harbor some curiosity of what would have happened if the dream had continued. I’m not sure if my life was even in danger. The corpse was justifiably angry but did not seem particularly threatening. Like I said earlier, I cannot control my dreams so I have no way of knowing when I will share his company again, if ever. Do I even want to? Whatever curiosity I do have is certainly tinged with fear. It is not clear to me whether I am truly cheating Death or whether I am playing right into his hands. This could very well be an elaborate game, one I don’t know all the rules to.
    Today my doctor tells me that if I live just two months longer, I will have beaten the record. Am I supposed to rejoice at this? I seem to be some sort of lab experiment to him. Or perhaps a trained seal that has finally performed a marvelous trick that hasn’t yet been performed by other seals that he knows of. What happens if I die after three months? According to the good doctor, I’ll still have beaten the record and lived an astoundingly long time, unheard of for someone with what I have. Never mind that I’m only 22 and haven’t been outside a 50 mile radius from the house I was born in. I’m supposed to be grateful anyway.
    I tell my doctor that I am planning a trip. I mention that I haven’t left the town I was born in ever since I was born. He gestures frantically, hoping to convince me that it’s a bad idea. His panic cements my decision to go. I will be flying out to California, where I hope to see the beach for the first time in my life. Maybe even surf, even though I’ve never learned how. I wouldn’t mind just eating some ice cream at the water’s edge and watching other people surf.
    I dreamed one more time, this time on the plane. The shapes did not hesitate. The teeth were back, on every edge. The eyes were missing. At first it seemed no different from the first dream I had. An inexplicable excitement gripped me. I was finally going to find out what would happen. The Master Shape zoomed towards me. I was mesmerized, watching, waiting. Suddenly, it paused in mid-air, facing me directly. The teeth detached themselves from every edge and glided towards me, elongating as they approached. When they came within a few inches from my body, they stopped in unison.
    I was afraid to wake up. From my own fevered dream, as if some part of me knew that was transpiring here was very real. I should have been afraid to die. It was so clear that I was headed in that direction. All the near-misses, the close brushes with Death that I had somehow managed to avoid. Whom was I kidding? Our lives are in danger every single day and we’re not even aware of it. Perhaps it was the inevitability of it all, that Death would find me in one way or another that caused me to linger in this shadowy limbo somewhere between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead.
    Besides, isn’t it far easier to die in your sleep? Everyone says it is the best way to go. I wouldn’t have to face the terrible end my doctor had predicted for me twelve years ago when he saw me for the first time. He had laid out in great detail the physical and emotional anguish that was the norm and what steps he would take to minimize them, beginning with my admission to the hospital. If I allowed my dreams to take me, my end would be peaceful. Everyone knows that you cannot feel any physical pain in dreams. Right?
    The teeth continued to grow and bend towards each other, and they were no longer teeth. They were more like bars. I seemed to be in a cage of some sort. I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. I was curious but very peaceful at the same time. It was an odd combination, one I had never experienced.
    Suddenly, I was lifted. I was still in the cage and I reflexively looked down at my feet. They were no longer there. I couldn’t see my body at all. But I still definitely existed. I seemed to be invisible. I was in the clouds, racing through them at incredible speed. I knew not where I was headed. It was an incredible feeling, completely different from flying in an airplane. When you are in a plane and lucky enough to sit by the window as I had been, everything outside moves at a snail’s pace. You feel that you are barely moving at all. Unless there’s turbulence, which we’d briefly had near the beginning of the flight.
    I must have covered hundreds of miles in the span of seconds. Maybe even thousands. Then I began to descend, straight down. This was far slower, gentler, sort of like coming down in a parachute. Which I’ve never done of course, but I have seen it plenty of times on TV. They always look so graceful, floating serenely down to the earth below. That’s how it felt when I was coming down.
    I still had no idea where I was. The trees were a lush green from my new vantage point, the antithesis of the drab and faded look they wore when I was on the ground. As I floated ever closer, I could make out streets, traffic lights, cars, houses. I seemed to be approaching a particularly large building which I realized was a hospital. I glided down to the entrance. That was when it hit me that the cage was gone. I hadn’t even noticed when it disappeared. I was walking past the entrance doors. No one looked at me or acknowledged my presence. This was hardly surprising, as I was still clearly dreaming, but it was amusing anyway.
    I was riding up in the elevator, then walking down the hallway towards the ICU. My steps were purposeful, my feet carrying me towards an unknown destination. I had feet again. I was no longer invisible, at least to myself. Of course, to everyone else I still was.
    I entered a room at the far right and looked at the bed. I was staring at myself, fast asleep with my head tucked comfortably into a pillow. I reached down to touch my face peeking out from under the covers. And that was when I woke up.

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