NaNoWriMo 2011 (harbor.)
National Novel Writing Month 2011
-Friday.
I dreamt the island before, paths and all. The curving lines moving through the forests, converging on thin wooden bridges before segmenting off again. I didn't know where each one led. I still don't.
North for the harbor. West for home.
I've seen the paths curving low, down to the south. They are wide and inviting. I've asked about them many times, the men who watch over the bridge shake their heads, and place gentle hands on shoulders, pushing and urging towards the harbor. Everyone pushes for the harbor on the island.
It wasn't surprising to return to the island. There were many places that I had become familiar with in recurring dreams. Only once I realized it was the only dream I had anymore did it begin to worry me. Even just letting my mind wander at work would take me to the steep western cliffs, carrying the firewood that would eventually keep me warm in my dream-night once I was home in bed. Once I was dreaming properly and trapped there for hours.
That's how it's gone, for moths now. I live my life in parallel, here and there. Things are lonely on the island, though. It's hard to connect to someone who's waiting, and waiting seems to be the only thing anyone does in that place. There are settlements scattered (I assume, as I only know of 2) across the island, but they are small and temporary places intended only for brief rests. Everyone, instead, occupies the harbor. I have never seen a boat of any kind approach the island, but that does not stop the waiting. There are hundreds of people waiting on any given day. When spoken to, most of them will only mutter in response. Some have shoved me away, getting more and more violent the more I attempt to interact with them. They hate to be distracted from staring out into the waves and wandering over to the blank wall labeled "SCHEDULED DEPARTURES" in tall, bronze letters.
Occasionally, I'll take sleeping pills simply for the opportunity to explore. I spent one 12-hour Ambien adventure standing outside the ticket booths, waiting for some acknowledgement from the women inside. Not a word, until night fell over the island and she stood up, hung a small sign indicating the time they would open in the morning across the window and wandered into the crowd. From then on she stood at the railing looking at the water. As blank as any of them.
About 2 months in I was deeply entrenched in the mystery of the place. That's what led to my willingness to go to those lengths. After a while, my obsession waned as real-life anxieties moved to the forefront of my life. Dating, work, what would happen on TV that week. Easier to discuss over coffee with friends then an imaginary island. Things have started to change though. Life is a little easier, the island a little colder. I'll explore it again. I'll keep notes this time. Draw maps. I'll travel south and see if the forests end.
-Saturday.
I slept naturally last night. I don't want to move into drugs right away, they might change things. I don't know. 7 hours. Anxiety kept me awake. Everyone is moving. The western camp is almost empty now, 5 people there when I left. The bridge was crowded, with extra guards on the western side. When I moved east they didn't seem to notice. When I tried to go back west, they started to yell. I don't think anyone has ever spoken to me there before. I never thought about it before. In a dream, you go into it knowing everything you need to know, no one has to teach you anything. I only know now what I knew in my first dream there. There was no language in their words, just meaningless noises cutting through the air to accompany threatening gestures. I ran into the forest and hid there until morning brought me back to this world. It wasn't exactly a fruitful day of research.
-Sunday.
9 hours tonight. I was lost, briefly. Wandering through the trees. Wandering through the absolute silence created in the dense cover of the forest. Once I found a path again it was fine. I never realized how dark it could really become beneath the leaves like that.
The straggling few who were in the camp last night were still there. I was relieved to see them still living there. I don't know why, but even the thought makes me incredibly upset. There's one family especially that I feel as though I am a part of. The youngest child is an adorable boy of 8 or 9. We've hunted rabbits together, and he keeps me company through monotonous tasks, such as splitting firewood. He smiles and laughs and is one of my favorite aspects of this dream world. His mother has treated my wounds and illnesses. His father helps me carry and clean larger game. We eat our meals together, and I have spent many nights sleeping in their cabin. I don't know if my presence is one of the things keeping them here, instead of joining the waiting at the harbor, but I do personally know every person left here. They are all people I would call "family" or "friends."
I've begun memorizing the layout of features of the island so I can map them out. I'll start here, since it is the most familiar. I'll travel the paths first, and concentrate on landmarks. Almost everything in between is forest and mountain, anyway. I'm eager to finish the familiar regions so I can finally see the southern part of the island.
The western settlement is easy enough to document. It has 20 cabins, arranged in a rough circular pattern. There's a large fire pit in the center of the camp, and I have only seen it lit on 3 occasions. Once as a funeral pyre. Once to celebrate a kill. It was also lit on the first day I dreamt the island. I don't remember why, I probably never knew.
The culture of the place is simple. They hunt, they forage. They eat what they find and keep warm by woodfire.
They comfort me with that simplicity.
I was born in a big city, and I'll die in one. I don't really know what burning wood smells like, or how to shoot a gun. All I've really experienced is gas fireplaces and the supermarket. I was always a romantic child, though, and dreamed of living in the forest every time I stayed too late at the park.
Usually, around 3 or 4 people occupy each cabin keeping the population just under 100 people. Walking around, observing how currently empty it really is leaves a hollow cold feeling in my lungs. The cabins don't seem to be damaged at all. They are all anachronistic things with big glass windows and elaborate stone hearths. It's obvious that these current residents had nothing to do with building them. (Who builds anything in a dream world? Sunset Magazine, if you take my sub-conscience as any sort of evidence.) there's no real reverence paid to the buildings as a result, but they do all remain in pristine condition. Probably due to some awareness that, if lost, they're truly gone.
-Monday.
7 hours. Had to work early, and lost sleep racing my alarm clock. I think I've covered all there is to say about the Western Settlement. It sits in the forest, and has thinly worn dirt paths leading from it. Everywhere has its own paths on the island. They fade carefully into one another as you move between. I spent the night looking upward.
-Monday.
Come in early, and there's nothing to do. Of course. I went ahead and napped at my desk instead of eating lunch. Anther kind of overtime, right? The dreams aren't as lucid as I thought they were. I thought about where I wanted to go next and decided to explore the paths along the cliffs. I watched myself then, no longer a part of the body, follow the river north. There are caves there I've never seen before, they form the head of the river.
I always assumed the island was simply cut through with seawater, made fresh by dream logic. I hope I can see more tonight.
-Tuesday.
I woke up in the cave. The river flowed around my body, and the water was cold. The echoing sounds from deeper in were too loud to simply be flowing water, and that alone drew me further in. I have no idea how I'll include any of this on my map. I'm not sure how deep I was when I awoke, or how far into the mountains I really followed the river. It might be stupid to physically map my dreams, but exploration really is the point.
It was dark throughout the passageways. I could slide my hand along the walls, though, and eventually the sensations that granted took over for my sight. I could feel water trickle across the back of my hand, even as thick slime slid between my fingers. Small animals would pull away as my hand bumped into them. Insects, crustaceans. It was impossible to discern, it didn't matter, they were invisible guides telling me “Here, there is still life this way.”
I stumbled twice in the thick and shifting silt of the river bed, so once it turned steep and grew into a solid rock bed I was thankful. The current still pushed me backwards across the slippery stones, but the imminent feeling of being swallowed by it all was gone. The echoes were unbearable. I was blind and deaf for a distance I can't fathom for the lack of those senses. I know I was near the end. Everything within my body told me that truth.
-Wednesday.
7 hours. No where near the river, let alone that cave. Fine. I was in the Bridge settlement instead. The guards were as restless as ever. I've never spent much time here, to be honest. It's impossible for me to be comfortable long. The buildings are similar to those in the Western settlement, but less finished? They look identical on the outside, but inside there are just piles of stone instead of finished hearths. The plaster on walls is patchy and bare. Some of the cabins are complete, and those cabins are granted to the guards. There is only one bridge across the river, making it the primary connection between the harbor and the western half of the island. Everyone is in transit here, moving towards the harbor. Moving back to the harbor. The harbor. Always the harbor.
They'll feed you here, though, and I was hungry when I arrived. There was laughter and music with the meal. One young girl even danced, twirling a long purple skirt around her body as she moved through the rows of tables. I was listening for words the whole night, but it seemed as though my first impression was the correct one. No one spoke here. I briefly considered crossing the bridge again, to see if the guards would turn on me once again. The memory of that sound stopped me, though. It was an instinctual fear, the nausea of a bitter taste turning my stomach. Ultimately, I woke myself up thinking about it and spent my last 2 hours in bed staring at the blinking colon of my clock.
-Thursday.
8 hours. Still in the Bridge settlement, although they are minimally welcoming to my staying there beyond the single night. I was able to go where I willed myself to travel, though, so I decided to continue east, towards the harbor they love so much. Once the path split once again I ducked away from my fellow travelers, and off the red brick-lined road swinging northwards. The steel grey stones going south. I finally walked them. No one saw me go, and it was easy.
Winter is beginning there, on the island. Outside the trees of the forest and away from the rocks of the cliffs the wind is hard and constant. My clothes are too thin, but I wouldn't be surprised to see them changed now that I've had the notion. There were beaches there, I could see them from the road. There were tree stumps, and poles sticking up from the ground. Birds picking through the sand and weeds. The ocean seems calmer there. It's rough beyond the western cliffs, and constantly slams into rocks. Even in the harbor it rolls dramatically into crashing waves and foam. I've never seen water that simply shines before, but even against the clouded sky that's exactly what it did. It also stank. Not everything can be picturesque, I suppose. The path remained pleasant throughout the night, so I never really though to leave it to really explore the beaches or any of the unidentifiable from a distance objects that laid there. I probably just happened to make a decision that coincided with the plan my dream self already had in place and was not nearly as in control as I thought. That's the sort of thing that I could dwell on for hours, though. There's lunch to be eaten instead, and much as I'd love to waste that time scribbling in a journal, I think I'll skip it today.
-Friday.
5 hours. Looking forward to more sleep this weekend less for the island's sake and more for my own. I don't know if it's the walking or what, but the whole week's been a restless one. Nothing happened last night. Typical. Once I get in the habit of keeping a journal shit stops happening. I think I spent all night staring at a photograph. Blurry, indistinct. Typical meaningless dream events happening around me. Still on the island, for no particular reason. I could tell by the smell.
I still don't think I'll being out the sleeping pills again as long as nights like this are happening. Another 4 hours of standing on the beach would have been a new kind of hell, but it wouldn't have caused any breakthroughs in why I can only dream one place. I will definitly be drinking, though. Tonight for sure. I don't get the chance to out much, so this should be a lot of fun.
-Saturday.
10 hours. A glorious, black 10 hours.
-Sunday.
Another 10 hours, but at least something happened. I was looking at the photo again, sitting on a bench along that southern road. My knees pulled up to my chest and my face buried in layers of thick scarves. My predicted wardrobe change came through! And the photo finally picked up some details. It's a woman, a brunette in a pink sweater. She's cute and looks like she's laughing. Her left hand is awkwardly touching her face, like she'd been hiding from the camera just before. I kept the photo in my pockets. I don't know where it came from, or if I'll ever think of it again, but something about felt profound last night.