Are You Brave Enough to Dream? - A Short Story

About dreams and discouragement

“You are not going to make it. You are mediocre. Your dreams are not for people like you.” said the cop. “You can’t win. Winning is called winning because of losers.” he walked to and for in front of the prison grill. His tall body cast an elongated shadow that fell into the cell, looming over Brian, the accused. I call him Brian; for some reason, I relate that name to bravery. “It’s okay to be a loser.” the cop went on, “ In fact, it is brave to accept defeat. Because if there weren’t any of yous, there aren’t any winners. We need winners, the world needs you.”

“So I have a chance?” Brian got on his feet. “You think I have a chance then?”

“Boy, you haven’t been listening to me have you. Your Da was mediocre, your Ma is mediocre. Two mediocre genes can only make a mediocre. You don’t have it in you.” the cop never looked Bran in his eye. He was an oscillating pendulum; mechanical; narrating like a child who had byhearted his lines for his first school play.

Brain walked along the cop’s footsteps, up and down by the grill, under the uniform’s shadow. A peculiar shadow it was, for it was dense, blacker than black. Brian could feel it blanket him and touch his skin. He put his hand out and brushed the grills as he walked past them. Every metal bar played the same note and the note it played was on an A-minor scale. The A-minor scale (sorry to break the story’s flow but this is an interesting fact apparently) is said to evoke feelings of longing, sadness, and suspense. Funny that mere sounds could cause such dramatic effects. “Have you ever counted the number of bars on my prison cell?” Brian asked.

“Do you remember that time when that guy pushed you around and you stood doing nothing about it?” the cop replied. “I don’t know how many such incidents you want me to narrate. You are mediocre, you.”

“But it's not like I force dreams upon me,” Brian walked a bit further than the cop this time. The weight of the shadow lifted off his shoulders. “Dreams come to me and I listen to them. I don’t even strive to realize them.” He walked further down and found a gaping hole in the grill: a massive hole, probably as big as the cell itself.

The cop was walking forth, with his back facing Brian. He had broad shoulders that man. “Don’t shy away from taking responsibility for your dreams. Don’t blame it on some unseen, nonexistent entity. Own your dreams. And dream not of the unachievable.”

Brian stepped out of the hole, bolted down the hollow hallway, and hid in a recessed window. The cop’s footsteps were the tick-tocks of a distant clock. The dreamer looked out of the window and heaved to take a breath. And in the outside world, dark skies loomed over massive ocean currents. The sight took his wind away. “Turmoil,” he said to himself. Don’t know why he said it but it was the only word that came to him. Visually the storm looked a lot more appealing than the prison walls of his eternal sentence.

He ran further down the hallway and out into the open air. The storm clouds welcomed the dreamer with refreshing sprays of fine water droplets. He walked to the edge of the hill and watched the dark ocean beneath him elevate and collapse in chaotic movements, brewing a lament-filled dance. “Dreams” the cop put his arm over Brian’s shoulder and looked down, “is the word used to make ‘Nightmares’ sound flowery. And ‘bravery’ is to make ‘stupidity’ sound profound. Say, it's safer inside our prison walls, don’t you think?”

- Kahan J Sudev