Fevered Dreams

I live in the hottest place on earth. That is a lie, of course. I do not know if this climate is the hottest one where a human being can live, but it is certainly the hottest place that I have ever known. Some days are spent in languid stupor because of it, and my nights are stained with the sweat streaming from my pores. In this oven, there is no relief.

When I fall asleep, I dream as any man can dream. The subconscious controls the fleeting images of memory, twisting them into eccentric paths for me to follow. Sometimes I can see myself, and other times I cannot see anything at all (I am not even sure if the protagonist in my dreams is me). On occasion, the subconscious has not thought things out thoroughly enough. One night, I dreamed that I was home in America, eating gigantic sandwiches and walking around the capitol building late at night. It was certainly fantastic enough, I tell you, but it was not believable. The moment I asked someone, “shouldn’t I be someplace else?” the dream stopped. I awoke in my bed half screaming because it ended so suddenly. It was as if I had caught the sub-consciousness off guard without a moment to think. Rather than think of an exit strategy, the devil simply pulled the plug!

One night, I was given the most wonderful dream. It took me far away from my airless nights, to a place somewhere I had never been before. It was in the exact opposite of the place in which I live. It was cold, with every beautiful and wonderful thing that that single word has to offer. I was lifted from my mosquito enclave and flown over the earth, landing in a snow-covered plane between two mountain ranges. For some reason, I was still only wearing the T-shirt and kromah I wear to bed. However, it was not freezing. The wind came up and barreled down upon me like a wind tunnel, and yet it felt as refreshing as a giant air conditioning machine. Snow was falling on my bare feet, and yet I did not seem to mind. About a hundred yards away from where I stood lay a small village. Gray colored chalets made of stone and wood were arranged along a main street. I could see smoke coming out of the chimneys, so I decided to walk over there.

As I entered the edge of the village, a large man came out of one of the houses. He was dressed all in heavy fur, with a ski goggles, and a mask on his face. A giant red beard engulfed his mouth and cheeks that bore the same colors as his coat. His hair and his clothing were a curious amalgam. I came towards him just as he was stepping down off the main porch. When he caught me in his gaze, he did seem at all surprised at all. Was I perhaps not the first visitor here? He simply looked at my outfit, pulled down his mask, and said something. At least I could tell that he said something because I saw his lips move. As soon as he was finished, a little blue piece of matter appeared in front of my forehead, and fell to the ground. I picked it up. It was cold, circular, but not very hard. Some sound seemed to be coming from it, so I warmed it in my hands and put it next to my ear. “Aren’t you cold?” a gruff voice asked. I imagined that this was the man’s voice, and that this was the question he wanted to ask me. I said something back to him, but I could not hear any of the words that were coming out of my mouth. Instead, they froze in front of the other man’s face, and the process repeated itself. The conversation went like this:

“Aren’t you cold?”
“No, for some strange reason I’m not.”
“I’m off to kill an elk, would you like to join me?”
“No thank you. I regret that I am ill dressed for hunting.”
“I would say you are ill dressed for most anything around here.”
“Best of luck to you.”

The red, hairy ogre walked off with a gigantic rifle in his hand and large bag over his shoulder. I dared not follow him. However, he did leave the door to his house open, so I decided to take a look inside. Furs covered the floor, and a fire was going in the hearth. A kind of sickly warmth washed over me when I opened the door further. I turned back again to the outside and a bizarre sight awaited me. Everything was melting all at once, and the disgusting warmth was increasing the longer I stood there. I ran down the steps of the house, out of the village, and into the open field where I had first felt so cold before. I had hoped to give me once again that feeling that I desired again, but it was too much. I shivered, and fell to the ground in a moaning, quivering mass.

When I woke up, I discovered that I had a fever. Despite the fact that it was already 87˚, I felt the same shivers creep over me as I had in the dream. It was terrifying, but I am glad I was able to visit that cold place.

I daydream about it constantly now.