The Road To?

Is it possible to have deja vu before the event? It’s an interesting hypothesis methinks. Or is a dream a precursor of an event yet to occur? Or both?

Imagine, if you will, a scenario where you, the onlooker, are a part of a dream, yet you see it with your own eyes, played out before you in a theatre of you dream. Its your dream, that’s never in doubt, but if it were OUR dream, why can we not influence the outcomes? What if your dream became a reality, years after the dream occurred? Would that blow your mind?

Its 4am, sitting behind the wheel of my truck with the music hitched up to a level that fills the cab with sound. Cigarette in one hand, the other lightly holding the steering wheel. This journey is a new route. Liverpool is west, then south, Manchester, Stockport to be precise is south, then west.  A1/M1 south, M62 west, M60 inner ring road southwest, A6 south, turn off into business park at the George and Dragon. Simple enough.

The new M1/M62 Interchange is interesting, all merging lanes and no roundabouts. Except, hang on, I know this road, boy do I know this road. How? It’s the first time I have traveled it. But hang in the left lane up the hill, stay left, then merge right through the underpass to join/filter the M62. This doesn’t make sense. I know where I am going, signposts are ignored. Like a homing pigeon I can navigate this complicated interchange with my eyes closed. Why? Because I have been here in a dream, that’s why.

My partner and I are on our own journey, unrelated. The car breaks down and we use the cell phone to call assistance. Meanwhile, I see in the rearview mirror, a large gang of people heading our way. They look menacing to me. I have seen the movies, lock the doors and stay safe. To hell with that, we are out and running before we even know it.

We are chased right through the subway that I just drove. We are below ground level. Maintenance ladder, climb girl, climb. Up we go to the next level. Run, just bloody run lass, for your damned life. Another ladder, up we go. Theres an old fuel stop, deserted. Hide, we hide, we can’t run much more. I vault the fence and start trying to drag a section down so she can follow. I can’t move it, fuck! They are approaching, fast. It’s too late, too late. They take her from my grasp. I am powerless to prevent what happens. I still feel the guilt. I am yellow!

Part of it is dramatised, but still true. How could I know this road? It’s impossible, logic screams that. But I know the road, even though I have never driven on it, ever. How can that be? The dream was months before the event. It spooked me. I had to pull over and stop shaking.

My entry to the Monday Morning Writing Prompt


4 responses to “The Road To?

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