Seeing Things

I had an appointment with a psychologist this morning.  It was supposed to be just an intake appointment.  An initial assessment to consider what other therapy I would be needing.  Also just verifying the illnesses I have previously been diagnosed with and trying to determine a baseline level of symptom severity.  To that end, the doctor, asked me a question.

“Is there anything unusual that you have been experiencing lately besides the typical nightmares, the panic attacks, and the anxiety attacks?”

That’s when I told him about the visions.

During the day, fully conscious, I have been seeing things.

I see a woman, she is literally wearing hides draped and wrapped around her body.  She is smiling and laughing.  She is holding a carved bowl of berries.  She is standing near a river.  She turns and sees me, and comes running.  She is still happy.  She jumps into my arms and we kiss.

I see a hill.  There is a building with columns and wonderful works of art at the top.  There are people gathered all around, wearing what appear to be togas.  There is a circle of men and women all listening to one person speak.  I approach the circle to see who they are listening to at its center, and I see her.  She concludes speaking, and after applause and cheers, she runs through the circle into my arms, and we kiss.

I see a woman in a checkered dress.  She has a silver torc around her neck.  Her face has paint on it, and her clothes show some blood, but none appear to be hers.  Her hair falls in sweaty ringlets and she is clearly tired.  A few small fires smolder behind her, and there are dead and wounded people all around.  Most appear to be people wearing Roman soldier uniforms.  She looks up, and despite her exhaustion, smiles and runs toward me, jumping into my arms.  We kiss.

I see a street of cobblestone.  Carriages are moving through the street, and it is dark and cold.  Steam rises from the streets and people scurry through to the safety and warmth inside.  A carriage pulls up in front of me and stops.  The driver opens the door and she emerges from the carriage.  Her black and purple dress make her look like royalty as she glances up from the ground to see me.  Her eyes meet mine.  The recognition is instant.  She smiles and runs toward me.  She leaps into my arms and we kiss.

I see a wooden sidewalk next to a dirt street.  Stagecoaches move through, kicking up clouds of dust.  One skids to a stop in front of me.  The driver and the other man in front jump down from their positions with shotguns over their shoulders.  They open up the door to the coach and I see a gloved hand reach out for help from the coach.  Then a parasol.  Then I see her.  The brim of her hat obscures her vision as she looks down to ensure her footing, but then she looks up and catches my eye.  She smiles at me.  She says something to me, but I can’t hear it.  I approach her.  I grab her and kiss her.

I see a city street.  There are people everywhere.  Many of them are wearing uniforms.  There are people celebrating and cheering.  People piled up on cars, waving flags.  I see her.  She is wearing a business like grey dress.  Her dark hair is tightly kept and she looks very sharp.  She is smiling, but when she sees me, she starts to cry.  She takes off her heels and sprints to me, nearly knocking me over.  She kisses me.

I see a field.  There are people everywhere with signs.  There is a line of either police or guardsmen in riot gear surrounding us all.  Some people are shouting at the authorities, but most are just holding their signs and singing their songs.  Half the men in the crowd have long hair or some kind of Afro.  Most of the women have long straight hair, and people are wearing bell bottoms.  The mood appears to be tense but happy.  I see her.  She wears a light, long, flowing white dress.  She has a flower in her hair.  She is walking toward the line of authorities.  She has both her arms outstretched, and in one hand, holds a daisy.  She approaches one of the people with their rifles and puts the daisy into the barrel.  She smiles and turns around.  As she turns, she sees me.  She runs toward me, leaps into my arms, and we kiss.

I see a computer.  A post on WordPress.  I see her.  Reading the post, and feeling like those visions are a bit too familiar.  I see her wondering if there is any truth to this work of fiction.  I see her trying to talk herself out of her knowledge that I am talking about her.  She is you.  How YOU doin’?





Author: Josh Wrenn

Cancer survivor, wanna-be artist, musician, author, and all around good guy.

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