Flowers in the Concrete

Sitting in my room, I offered a passing glance to the light fixture. A reflective, rectangular fixture of bright white that contained a neon bar of LED bulb in it. For a moment there was an ominous candle wax dripping from the chips in the paint. As it hit the floor it began bubbling and raced it’s way to the bed in the corner of my room, almost as if the whole room was tilted towards me. Out of the wax emerged a raven about the size of the twin bed. It hopped sort of playfully towards me, spread its wings and began it’s flight in my direction, getting smaller and smaller with each flap of its wings. I could hear it calling my name though it’s mouth remained closed. I blinked and it was gone. The floor returned to regular linoleum, unstained and without a single burn. I turned to my roommate and he had a look on his face made up of worry and slight disdain. I’ve been trying to get your attention, dick head. The staff called a smoke break. Smoke break? So be it.

I don’t remember when my dreams started clashing with reality. I do recall, however, a time when it became almost unbearable. Closing my eyes was always a good way to bring myself back to reality. Like a light switch that flips itself back on whenever it wants. However, the dream world could get addicting. Enthralling even.

Entering Lionel-Groulx metro felt like a dream-scape. Tree roots riddled the ground, large and small. Iridescent flower like patterns filled the cracks in the concrete walls where the trains passed. I was surrounded by various creatures that I couldn’t quite identify and they were all moving at various speeds. I took a seat on the dew covered grass and began strumming my guitar, I could see the music flowing from it. I couldn’t play the guitar for shit but it sounded harmonious to me. I heard my name and for a moment snapped back to reality. It was my High School buddy. I think he was trying to say hello but I ran as soon as I saw him, dropping my guitar in the process. The jungle would soon return.

Passing through the doors of the metro cart, I felt somewhat like a lab rat in some twisted other-dimensional scientist’s experiment. The cart seemed bland as a metro cart could be except for one rather odd outlier of a presence. The creatures. They were different this time, their spirits seemed dishevelled. Almost desolate. It felt as if the experiment was draining them of their life force. I came to the realization that I wanted to help them, to destroy their existence. Not viciously but in the kindest way possible, so that they would be able to move on. Ripping out their ego’s from their throat as softly as a harpist plucks at her strings.

I wasn’t initially upfront with my loved ones about my living condition. I would occasionally drop hints and make backhanded jokes but all I got in return were blank stares and weird looks. I can still hear the snark rolling off my father's tongue like water. I remember being with a dear friend of mine and asking if he could also see the flowers in the concrete. No he said followed with a tone of laugh that could only be described as worried.

As you know the dreamworld isn’t always, well, dreamy. Sometimes it can be horribly deceptive. I would go as far as to say that it could be deceptively enjoyable.

It felt like the idea of this episode was derived from the movie “The Truman Show”. I believed I was an unwilling participant in a sort of morbid oriental game show. The host? Ted Moseby. Ridiculous. My body was almost moving on it’s own. The premise of this game was that I was a secret agent of sorts and had to figure out who else was in on it. Seemed fun, until the directives changed drastically. I was to kill of anyone who was discovered to be an agent as well. That doesn’t make sense, I don’t harm people, where is this coming from? I thought. For a meagre moment I longed to be brought back to the earthly plane of common sense, but a part of me needed to understand what was happening on the other side. I began to hear murmurs enter my cerebellum, coming in from far and wide. The language and content of these particular murmurs was indiscernible, try as I may to decipher. But I had a feeling it was calling to me. No...calling for me! I raced to discover the origins of the deafening whispers, entering portals to places that were, beforehand, impenetrable. Near the end of my journey I encountered a strange type of party bus. Mustard yellow. Tacky colour for a party bus, don’t you think? The party go-er's swooned me into entering and I was much obliged. The sirens wailed but didn’t I care for the sound. Party time!

After years of therapy and flowing in and out of different institutions I gave up. I decided to start taking the right medication, slowed down my substance use immensely, opened up to my therapist and started to get my life back on track. Life became monotonous and boring. Pointlessly obedient. The structure that had long eluded me was weighing down on my shoulders like a sack of potatoes tenfold. I thought to myself Hey, at least my loved ones are happy. Returning to civilization was difficult and wasn’t nearly as rewarding as I was told it would be. Nowadays, all my strolls have a purpose, direction and destination. What a drag. Although, there is a silver lining and I hold onto it tightly. To this day, if I look hard enough, I can still see the flowers in the concrete.