Freud's Playground

I flew with giant sweeping wings of white, higher and higher until the people below looked like little ants. The feeling of freedom was so sweet, I never wanted to stop. I glided and dipped and swirled amongst the clouds. Looking down, those anchored to earth took on a new appearance, no longer ants, but periods and commas and … musical notes?

I suddenly found myself standing outside of a door, one of those half-door and half opaque window jobs that used to line the hallways of my high school. I shuddered as I reached for the knob. I knew what was behind that door but I simply couldn’t stop my hand.

Slowly the door swung open. I took in the entire room with a glance and let out a sigh of resignation. No other horror could have squashed my soul so completely. Yep, it was band practice. Man I hated this dream.

All eyes looked at me expectantly as I walked around trying to figure out which instrument was mine. It was as if they needed me to be there or they would cease to exist. I was going to lead them to greatness. I was their savior. The pressure was overwhelming, especially when I considered the fact that I have no idea how to play an instrument.

I finally took a seat behind a thing that may have been a tuba or possibly a violin. When the music started up, I actually felt like I knew what I was doing. I got into the rhythm, plucking and blowing for all I was worth. Then it all came crashing down.

Somehow, I was playing the wrong instrument, the wrong music and wearing only my Batman underwear. This was going to take years of therapy to recover from.

Word count 298