I hear two voices now. I can’t tell where they’re coming from. Maybe they’re in my head. They sound somewhat like me, but different. One is softer and more feminine. Her words flow smoothly as if in song and each syllable caresses me. The other is somber and scientific, bereft of any passion or even inflection. I imagine it to stem from a female Spock. Their speech becomes more distinct and I listen to their conversation, unable to do anything else.

“What shall we do with it?” the second voice asks. What is this “It” they are referring to? Am I “It?”

“Well, we’ve never really wanted it, have we?” replies the first. “But it’d just be such a pity to throw it away.”

“But to keep it we must have a purpose,”

“I understand. But surely it has one.” Do I have a purpose? I have often wondered but have never been able to find a satisfactory answer.

“Indeed. That is the dilemma. We cannot find it’s purpose.”

“Does it have a purpose? Does it have a meaning?” Do I have a meaning? I’m not even sure what that means. This isn’t making any sense.

Silence again. Three figures appear before me. At first they are merely shadows but as they step forward simultaneously they become more distinct until I can see each and every detail. These figures appear to be human. They each resemble me yet are distinctly different from myself and each other.

The first is a little girl. She’s wearing well worn overalls without a shirt and her tiny hands and little bare feet are covered in dirt. She looks at me curiously with her huge sparkling eyes excited to have some new specimen to observe. The mischievous grin on her face is ceramic: you’d have to break it to get it off.

The next figure is the most frightful. I’m hard pressed to say whether or not it’s really human. A caveman, perhaps. I mean cave woman. She’s definitely female: her breasts are enormous. Her naked body is covered in all manner of scars and burns, most of these not unintentional but rather decorative in nature. She has even cut words into her face and chest. I can’t decipher what they say. They’re written in some foreign script that I feel I should know but for some reason I can’t comprehend it. Her hair is long, wild and free. I doubt it’s ever seen a brush. In each hand she holds a tankard of ale. She gulps one down slovenly and throws the other into the air laughing, laughing madly. But I can’t hear her. There is no sound. She stares into me with those wildfire eyes. It is very unsettling.

The third figure smiles warmly at me. I think I like her the best. She’s very beautiful, though not in the classical sense. Actually, she’s rather plain. There’s just something about her that’s just... beautiful. I can’t think of a better word to describe it. Her aura is very comforting. For the first time since this crazy dream began, I start to feel at ease. I want her to put her arms around me. I want to be protected. I wonder, if I ask her, will she be my mother? But I can’t speak. Won’t she speak? Some words of wisdom, Mother Goddess! She refuses to speak. She just stares at me-into me-piercing my soul.

The mother stares. The beast woman stares. The curious little girl stares. Why are they staring? I hate it when people stare at me! ‘Stop looking at me,’ I want to cry out. But with no voice how can I? Then simultaneously they all shut their eyes and disappear. I’m alone again in the darkness.

I rarely have dreams that last this long. I’ve always wanted one of those coma dreams. Maybe that’s what this is? How could I have entered into a coma?

I hear the sound of stage lights being turned on. I now find myself in a different room, standing up. It’s completely white-filled up with white light. The lights are much too bright. I hear another voice. It’s mine! At least I think it’s mine but it isn’t coming from me. It’s echoing through the room.

“Are you ready then?” I–I mean the voice says. What is it talking about? Ready for what?

“To choose between life and death.” Is the choice really mine to make. That decision really belongs to fates, doesn’t it? The only way I can think of to take it into my own hands is to end my life myself.

Do I want to die? I can recall many a lonesome night that I have sat languishing in bleak tormenting depression praying for whatever dog may be to smite me because no hell could be worse than this pain. But it wasn’t like that all the time. Sometimes I almost feel happy. Sometimes it felt like there was hop and I prayed that I might be delivered.

“It’s a simple question. What’s it going to be?” God, this is confusing! Can’t I give myself a minute to think? It’s not an easy decision. I don’t really like my life very much but if I was dead how could I ever make it any better? Perhaps my tiny bit of hope is what’s kept me alive so long. Or perhaps it’s my fear. I don’t know what comes after death. I don’t really want to go to hell, but if there is a hell I know I’m certainly going. If there isn’t one then I’m certainly lucky but I can’t imagine that I’d be happy in a heavenly paradise either.

Reincarnation is no guarantee of a better life. I may just be a soul eternally destined for misery. But all of these options I can abide. I know what it’s like to be miserable and a lifetime or an eternity wouldn’t make a difference in that respect. What scares me the most is that perhaps I’ll just cease to exist altogether. The incomprehensible nonexistence of the self. Though I know it’s pointless, I fear that more than anything. Am I going insane? I just want to wake up from this awful dream .I don’t have time for this.

“That’s the issue. Time.” So she can read my mind then? I’d better come up with an answer…God! I don’t know!

“Well, I guess it’s not important right now.” What?! “You’re not very good at making decisions, are you?” Shut up! What do you know?! “You’d better figure it out. The dilemma will present itself soon enough.” God, I wish she would shut up! She’s such a pompous jerk. I wonder if that’s what I sound like to people.

I hear the world’s most annoying sound that is reminiscent of birds chirping at the gates of hell. My alarm clock. I am jolted back to a more concrete reality. I lay in bed for a moment, a cold sweat on my brow, trying to recuperate from the disturbing world of my own thoughts. Soon it will be time to start my day. Soon it will be time to make my decision.