A Sorrowful February

This story came to me in a dream on a Sunday morning, quite possibly February 9, 2003. That dream was probably one of the driving forces behind what made me decide to start writing. There were other factors that influenced my writing. Although I didn’t actually begin writing until April 10, 2003, this dream probably was the catalyst. I also plan to write an in depth essay on all of the factors that caused my mind to be creative. Hopefully I’ll do this in the not-so-distant future. UPDATE: Here it is.

Without further ado, here is the story:

…New Orleans…

…Not So Distant Future…

It was a brisk Saturday afternoon in early February; there we were, two soul mates; young, in love and on the run. We were an illegally wed couple living under a Totalitarian government where corruption and cronyism was rampant. Despite the miserable life in our city, we found true love and happiness in each other. Hand in hand we walked the streets so much in love. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other, despite all public displays of affection being strongly frowned upon by the cruel customs of our dystopian society. I could not stop touching her and she could not stop kissing me. We were looking for a place to consummate our love and found an abandoned warehouse near the busy railroad yard. To gain access, we smashed a window, then climbed inside. The interior was dark and damp, but our raging hormones overpowered and impaired our better judgement. We commenced our lovemaking with exceeding passions, then cuddled into the night under a discarded tarpaulin. Blissfully, we slept in each others’ arms. Under the light of a full moon, angry lawmen in S.W.A.T. gear stormed the building and arrested us. These hateful men also planted narcotics in our clothing-possession of which carried an automatic penalty of death. The horrible officers cuffed us and we were transported to the police headquarters building. They housed us in separate cells. Every time we tried to talk to each other, we were flogged with batons. We learned that we were to be executed at dawn. Deep anxiety filled our hearts and minds like never before. At least we shared the joy of fully knowing each other and no one could ever take that away from us. We were then ordered to be silent. Suddenly but, miraculously the building collapsed. My lover was injured internally, but unbeknownst to her as a result of the collapse.

When the dust settled, I found her trembling with fear, but overjoyed to see me.

“Take my hand, baby, ’cause we’re walking out of here,” I told her, assuredly.

She nodded, then hugged me with great strength and kissed me multiple times, then exited what was left of the building.

We began walking parallel to the train tracks, hoping to leave this wretched city once and for all.

Feeling victorious, we held each other closely and we walked into the early morning hours.

Suddenly, at dawn, my lover collapsed in the grass along the right of way. I tried to revive her but couldn’t. I listened and felt for her heartbeat, but there was nothing. She was dead. I stayed by her body weeping bitterly.
It was now sunrise and the train master saw us. He offered me his phone to call her family.

I called them and then waited, filled with matchless sadness and unparalleled anguish.

In time, they arrived in a blue pickup and placed her body in the truck bed.  I laid next to her with great sorrow.

Days later, at her memorial service, I walked up to her open casket with a loaded pistol in my hand, placed the end of the barrel to my temple, and squeezed the trigger.

Suddenly, I woke up, all alone in my bed.

It was a cold and dreary Sunday morning.

I walked to the family computer and began to write while listening to music…

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