The Fictitious Fantasy of Depression (My daughter doesn’t like when mommy reads this story! I posted it anyway)

One night a dream came… in confidence and determination two men climbed the stone steps of a tall temple that pierced the sky. Both men wore long desert cloaks, had powerful builds, and tanned features. The slightly smaller man was stone faced; he had a hardened look and fire burned in his eyes. He appeared eager for this day, as if it had been long awaited. The other had more handsome features; he wore an ornate long sword on his back, and walked with the same confidence, but his eyes revealed indecision.

The men reached the top of the steps. They looked out from the temple. As far as their eyes could see they saw the land, devoid of breathing creatures. The temple was ancient and the entire structure was made of stone worn with age. They stood before the temple's bloodstained alter, which rested atop the temple high above the land. The wind and sand began to swirl, like an ominous dark tan cloud beneath the temple's summit. The stone faced man struggled to shout over the noise, "Today, Brother, we will change the world." His brother's eyes seemed less certain of that truth.

Below them the wind continued to pick up and the land they could once look out upon disappeared beneath the temple's high vantage point. They were isolated from the land from which they came. The handsome man said, "Stay calm, it is always like this." The wind was swirling around them, but the sand cloud floated ominously below the temple's summit.

A white light, brighter than the hot desert sun above them, appeared before them and out of it an apparition walked. Clean white robes, fitted loosely and layered, blowing slightly in the wind, barely gave away the form of a tall slender woman. The luminescent white light gathered about her, and the light radiated from an insipid stone that hung about her neck. The light swirled inside the translucent stone. Her hair was as dark as the night and her skin glowed, ethereal and pale. She stood before them tall and unaffected by the winds, except for a light breeze that made her garments flow.

The men, now hunching over to protect themselves from the mighty wind, approached her. When the men set their eyes upon her face, their tanned and dark features began to pale. Her presence was overwhelming. Her face was troubled as if in recognition of what was about to happen. The stone faced man produced a primitive long knife from under his cloak, which had been hidden well within. She did not look surprised. The stone faced man's larger brother followed suit, pulling his long sword from the scabbard on his back. The metal of the long sword gleamed in the stone's light. She did not move or scream, only stared. Her gaze seemed to affect the men in secret ways.

The three stood atop the temple for what seemed like days but was only seconds. The men began to show signs of waning confidence. They trembled, as if stricken by fear. The stone faced man broke the silence with a shout, "Freedom!" Then he plunged his rustic long knife deep into the woman's chest. She fell over onto the stone alter behind her. The stone faced man approached the alter to inspect what he had done. He ripped the stone from around her neck with his right hand and pulled the knife out of her chest with his left. Blood began to flow down and fill a small basin surrounding the alter. He quickly stepped out of the way, as her blood flowed down.

He turned and looked up into his larger brother's eyes and shouted, "Finish her, brother, and prove you are worthy to rule over me, to lead our people to a new age." The brother's face looked grieved. He hesitated. The stone faced man handed him the aqua stone and looked deep into him and said, "Join me this day." The man reached for his long sword and stepped up to the woman, now covered in blood soaked robes. As she lay, slowly bleeding to death on the alter, she said, "You do not know…" and at that moment the ornate sword released her…

Awake! Sitting straight up, sweating, and heart racing, Malachi sat listening as if something in the house had awaken him. He was conscious that he had seen or maybe dreamt something. He did not know. He decided it was just a dream and lay back down in the cold winter air, his heart rate slowing, finding the place between sleep and dreams.

The alarm rang and Malachi stretched out of bed, one foot then the next. He looked out of his apartment window and saw a dark, cold day. He hurriedly pulled on some clothes draped over a nearby chair. The clothes looked a little worn and unlaundered. He stumbled over to the small kitchenette in his studio apartment. He looked as if he had not slept for days. His mind was groggy, slow, and overwhelmed, but he did not know why. Malachi figured it was his mundane, repetitious lifestyle getting to him that had caused him to be so tired for the last several weeks.

At the kitchenette bar, he ate his morning bagel. The news coming from his alarm clock radio bled into his thoughts. However, Malachi could not really hear it. His apartment was cold, but he did not seem to notice. Instead, he was filled with thoughts of hot weather, sand, and a dream he could not quite remember.

He began a long snowy trudge to work down 95 into Boston, where he worked at a corporate bank office. He was content with the delay and being late to work. The man in him hated the laziness, but he also dreaded the long days of phone calls, problems, and button pushing. Malachi's thoughts slipped back to his dreams. He arrived at work still groggy and with his mind in some far off place.

It was another normal Monday for Malachi. He checked the news before starting into work. Then he tried to entertain himself by reading a long list of boring memo emails. His company, Robinson-Smith Trust, had just announced another million-dollar bonus for its CEO, Thomas Robinson.

Hank, who sat in the cubicle next to him, leaned over and said, "Did you know that Robinson makes more every day than we make in a year?"

Malachi looked back and said, "Yeah, I saw his new yacht in Boston Harbor this weekend. I don't even think he uses it."

Hank replied, "Didn't you think we'd end up doing something more?"

Malachi turned back to his work and began to daydream. Hank knew Malachi had been pushed too far by the company. They had not even let him take a vacation last year. His boss had said, "Of course you can take your vacation, but the corporate office is in the process of layoffs. I'm not sure you will have a job when you get back, especially if they see we can get along without you."

Hank leaned over to Malachi and said, "Don't worry, things will get better. Maybe you'll get that promotion they promised you when you were hired." He was clearly being sarcastic.

It had already been over two years since he was supposed to have been promoted. Malachi knew two years and six months was too long to be in his current job. It was the same thing over and over again. Process the reports and email them to the client. He knew he could be replaced by technology, but luckily he was still cheaper than new software.

Hank always tried to encourage Malachi. They had been friends since childhood. Hank was disheartened every time to see Malachi this way. Malachi had always been a dreamer, but his friend believed in him. Hank thought Malachi would change the world, and Malachi thought he would too. Malachi used to be the best at everything he tried, until his senior year in college almost 5 years ago when everything changed, and he became a different man. Hank still believed one day Malachi would do great things, and he would ride Malachi's coat tails.

That evening Malachi ate in his apartment alone. A meal of quick serve noodles, just add hot water. He mulled over how empty and vain his life felt. He looked back at his late father's life. He thought about what kind of man he was working 55 years in a leather factory. When the plant shut down, he lost his will to live. Working in that factory was all he had ever known. With his mother already dead, his father just slipped away. He had been watching TV one night, which is just about all he did after his wife died and his eyes shut during a commercial and never opened again. The doctors told Malachi it was a heart attack, but Malachi always knew it was a broken heart. He believed his father's heart was not broken for his lost mother, but broken for a lost life.

Malachi wondered if this was his future, working in the same job his whole life until he died, from depression and discontentment. Malachi drank himself to sleep that night. He wasn't a drunk but that night he just couldn't handle it anymore. As he fell asleep, he pulled a worn picture of his college girlfriend, Rachael, out from the nightstand.

He remembered the good times. He had always thought they would marry, but in their last week of school, she broke up with him only six months after his father's death. The only reason she gave was, "We're going in different directions and this was a long time coming." He never quite got over her. He thought solemnly as his eyes drifted shut, I wish I knew why….

Tuesday, Malachi's clock radio went off and the newscaster began spouting, "A winter weather advisory is in effect for Essex, Gloucester…" SLAM! Malachi hit the snooze button with great fervor just like every morning, but this morning was not like every other morning. Malachi had already been awake for hours, with his eyes closed in bed, trying to recall his dreams.

That morning, as Malachi contemplated his dreams, he began to realize that the word "dreams" was not the right way to describe them. Instead, it was one "dream" that he had been experiencing. He had been having the same dream for months, but only now realizing it. Every night he was remembering a little more, and this night he remembered everything: the two brothers, the steps, the sand cloud, the temple, and the murder.

As he lay awake in bed Tuesday morning, he tried to figure out where these images were coming from. Malachi thought that most dreams came from your unconscious mind working out something from your conscious life. He tried to work through the images in the dream. The temple looked just like pictures of Aztec temples he had seen before, only much, much larger. The desert was like the Sahara. He could match all of these images up. However, the sword and the people, Malachi could not place.

Malachi thought to himself, the images of the two men and the woman are so vivid. This dream was more like a vision.

Malachi's alarm clock sounded again. He finally decided that it was time to go to work. He was not looking forward to it and due to the rough night of drinking and no sleep, he was feeling even groggier than usual. The one thing that got him going was the thought of an extended lunch hour with Hank. Every Tuesday he and Hank got an extra half hour break and walked down to Faneuil Hall.

Malachi and Hank walked from the bank to Faneuil Hall with their normal conversation topics: sports, women, and the good old days. The good old days were of course their favorite topic. Hank and Malachi had a long history. They roomed together in college and they played the same sports in high school. Malachi was always better, but Hank was always his right hand man.

Malachi was about 5'11", had a medium frame, and back in high school he was in amazing shape. He played point guard for basketball and quarterback for football. They went to a small school but Malachi would have excelled anywhere. Malachi never tried to play for college because he wanted to focus on his studies. He went to a larger school where, even with his natural talent and determination, he probably would have ridden the bench.

Hank thrived in high school because he was in a small school and because Malachi always made sure Hank got the openings he needed in football and basketball. Malachi always gave him the right pass. Hank was much taller the Malachi, about 6'4, but even now he was as skinny as a pogo stick. When Malachi decided not to play at the college level, Hank knew he would not be able to do it without him. Instead, he settled for playing on intramural teams with Malachi.

This particular lunch Hank brought up intramurals in college. He should have known better than to bring the topic up. The highlight of their collective college athletic career was their freshmen year football team. They were the first all freshmen team to win the school championship.

As his conversation with Malachi heated up over lunch, Hank began to recall the championship game. He said, "Remember the championship game? We weren't playing for our school or for a big crowd. It wasn't like high school. There was no pressure. No one thought a freshmen team would make it to the championship game, let alone win it. At that point, we were playing for ourselves. It was the best game of our lives."

Malachi interjected, with a grin on his face, "Yes, it was, Hank. I miss those times when we went out and gave it our all, just to do it, just for the glory of the game, and for fun."

Hank continued, "Time was running out. It was fourth down with only seconds left on the clock. You threw the pass perfectly, right over the oncoming rushers, and right into my hands for the touchdown. It was the kind of play sports fans dream about seeing."

Then Hank quickly remembered why he should not have brought up the game. Malachi got roughed up pretty bad that day. He sprained his ankle and had to go to the trainer. The ankle was not the problem though; it was the day Malachi met Rachael. Rachael was a sports training major. As a freshman, they had her watching the intramurals, where nothing bad happened and the school's "real athletes" didn't play.

As Hank paused, realizing the topic he had inadvertently brought up, Malachi reminisced saying, "I remember how impressed Rachael was with me that day. She was so amazed that I would take a hit like that just to win an intramural championship. She called me a pigheaded jock, but I could tell. I could tell she was impressed that I would try so hard at something that didn't really matter."

Hank replied, "I'm sorry for bringing it up. I should of…"

Malachi interrupted, "Don't worry Hank, I like thinking about her."

Hank insisted, "You shouldn't think about her anymore. Let her go, Malachi."

At that point, they finished their lunch and remained silent for most of the walk back to the office. The rest of the day was uneventful and when Malachi came home, he was overcome with exhaustion. He went to sleep before he even had a chance to take off his shoes.

That night, Malachi dreamt the same dream he always dreamed. This time, however, when he awoke, he was not alone…

Thanks for reading, if you had a good time and want me to write more chapters, please comment and upvote!