Tuesday, 8 June 2010

The Dream

She knew she had to hurry if she wanted to get off in time to catch the train, but there were so many things she had to do first. The three others were ready to leave the house. It was a wild night, rain lashing  the window panes, adding to her feeling of dread. She was breathing hard, the pressure mounting.

The others left; the man looked back at her angrily, his face a grimace of impatience.

She was very late when she finally locked the front door behind her, pushing her bicycle into the road. The rain and wind caught at her, as she mounted her bike, trying to push her back.

She reached the four-lane boulevard; traffic was heavy, the wet asphalt black and shiny in the bright headlights and street lamps, large plate glass shop fronts mirrored and increased the busyness tenfold. She managed to weave  her way through lines of cars and buses, overtaking knots of cyclists, who swerved out into her lane at the same time as she was trying to pass them.

Her legs pumped furiously, heart pounding and throat aching with the effort of breathing, she raced the race of her life.

At the station the train was still on the platform. Dishevelled, panting, the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades, she jumped off her bike and was about to lift it into the guards’ carriage when she looked up and saw the man standing at the open door to their compartment, his arm beckoning her on imperiously, a look of fury mixed with disgust on his face.

She stopped abruptly, put down the bike again. Dimly she heard a whistle being blown. Her right hand let go of the handlebar of her bike, and slowly rose into the air in one smooth and graceful movement, two fingers sticking up triumphantly.

A few seconds later she took the handlebar again. turned the bike round in a semicircle and wheeled it back down along the platform. She never once looked back and therefore missed entirely the look of utter, dumbfounded, open-mouthed astonishment on his face.


  1. My pulse was racing as fast as hers! Masterfully written Friko. Now, what is the story behind the dream.

    Sometimes we don't even know we are victorious, until the gritty moment we are!

  2. Interesting. Sort of reminds me of days I had when I was younger...but my parents were less demanding.

  3. You capture well how we can weave our way through dream and reality.

  4. I sure can remembering riding a bike with that energy. Never to a train though.

  5. masterful writing friko! i'm breathless. steven

  6. And who can blame her? I'd have done the same.

  7. That served him right. I like your story with a moral at the end. She made superhuman efforts to get to the train then he had this look of furry and disgust. I wish every woman would do the same – let the blooming b@^*^ go on his own. Great tale, well told, I liked it.

  8. Great story, well told! Good for her!

  9. You are a natural storyteller, Friko.

  10. Bonnie - I wish I knew what is the story behind the dream. Reading dreams is not something I know. But it happened just like it says.

    Tabor - I don't think 'the man' was a parent.

    Paul C - perhaps part of it described something real? I don't know.

    Hilary - racing for a train does seem strange; there are too many means of transport in the dream.

    steven - thanks steven - breathlessness and a kind of dread were the pre-dominant feelings at the time, until the end, when relief kicked in.

    ellen abbott - perhaps the dream was me too? probably.

    Vagabonde - thanks Vagabonde - I agree, this should be every woman's default reaction. Or maybe not race to get to him in the first place?

    Vicki Lane - I'm glad my dream persona pleases you.

    Cloudia - . . . . . .if we let it. Aloha, Cloudia.

  11. Martin H - thanks Martin; and blogging is bringing it out.

  12. in an odd way this reminds me of Roger McGough's poem "waving at trains" because it made me think about the way we view transport from afar - were you the kid or the guardsperson or just watching from on high?

  13. Wonderful images that have the darkness of dreams. My dreams usually end with a crash or a disaster which wakes me up. This dream was one with a useful lesson for living.

  14. An anxiety dream which ends in quiet triumph . Perfect !

  15. ein starker Traum, der doch so viel Wahrheit beinhaltet. Eine grossartige Aussage, denn deutet sie nicht darauf hin, dass man keine festgefrorene Persönlichkeit ist, dass jeder die Wahl hat, hin zu Guten oder zum Bösen? Ja, wirklich, faszinierend, dieser Traum!
    Gute Nacht, liebe Ursula, lieber Benno und lieber "Beloved"!
    (Du hast hoffentlich meine Mail bekommen?)

  16. Hungry Pixie - It felt as if I was the person on the bike, to judge from the breathlessness when the dream woke me. I also felt a very satisfying sense of relief. So I must have been the one sticking up two fingers.

    20th Century Woman - That is a lesson I learned a long time ago, perhaps the dream meant to remind me.

    S&S - I certainly thought so, once I'd caught my breath.

    Renee - Du liest sehr viel in diesen Traum hinein; er war ser realistisch, als ich ihn traeumte; ichhoffe, dass er besagt, dass ich im Wachen so gehandelt haette.

  17. Late again, but I enjoyed your dream. I don't usually enjoy hearing about dreams or movies - but your dream was so fast-paced that I felt carried along for the seconds it took me to read about it. Perfect post.

  18. Pondside - No, you're right, I am not particularly interested in dreams either, my own or other people's. But this one was such a complete one, from beginning to end and I didn't know what else to post, I took the liberty, etc . . . .


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