Dream Come True?

It was vivid. It felt real. The flames were hot. I watched the pitiful faces of the electricians melt, their yellow helmets collapsing on their heads. Fire, death, destruction.

I awoke and it was only a dream. But a realistic dream. I dreamt there was a fire at the mill where I worked, and people were killed. I knew it was a premonition. It would happen. Probably today.

I only ever had a couple of realistic dreams in my life. And each of those dreams contained an element of truth or foreboding. One time, I dreamt that my girlfriend rushed out of the room, turned, and threw my ring at me and left. The next day I received an envelope containing a "Dear John" letter, and my ring. My vivid dream came true.

I knew there was something to this dream. I needed to warn them. People’s lives were in danger. Only I could save them.

I went to my job as a clerk in the pipe mill, with these horrifying images in my mind. I had to tell my co-workers. I had to save them.

I relayed my dream to my office mates. But they all laughed and made fun of me. I told them about my other vivid dreams, and how they had ended up coming true. Again they laughed at me.

"How did you know these guys in your dream were electricians?" they chortled.

"Because of the yellow helmets. All of our electricians wear yellow helmets." I said.

More laughter.

“But you don’t understand.” I pleaded. “You - no we - are all in danger.”

Just then our foreman from the electrical department came in. He was wearing his yellow helmet, and carried oxyacetylene tanks. As he placed these volatile tanks on one of the desks the laughter stopped. The room went cold and silent.

All of my coworkers went white and their jaws dropped. Instantly they all stopped what they were doing and ran as fast as they could out of the room. I joined them, shouting to the electrical foreman as I left, “Get out, quick.”

The poor electrician didn't know what happened. “Where are you guys going? What’s wrong?” He didn’t leave, he stayed in the room. I knew, from my dream, he was doomed.

Minus the electrician, we all gathered in the parking lot and awaited the impending disaster. We waited, and we waited. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, the confused electrician came out and saw us.

“What are you guys up to? You look ridiculous standing out in the cold like this.”

We were surprised, but relieved, that he was alright. “What happened with the tanks?” One of my co-workers inquired.

“They were empty. I put them in the truck to go for refilling.” Answered the still puzzled electrician.

We started sauntering back to our mill office. The angry guys were muttering to me, and about me. “Next time, keep your dreams to yourself.” I heard someone say.

I never mentioned my dreams to anyone again.



"The Writer's Cramp" 
(505 words)