Mr. Getton’s Seven Dreams
Mr. Getton struggled to settle his bum into the not-so-comfortable futon in front of the picture window in Mrs. Agatha’s office.
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Getton. Just relax. Get comfortable.”
“I’m trying.”
“You can start whenever you’re ready.”
“Start what?”
“Telling me everything.”
“Everything?”
“From the very beginning.”
“Okay. It all started six nights ago. I was running through the forest and trees were burning incessantly all around me.”
“Trees all around you?”
“Yes. Definitely a wildfire.”
“And, what do you think this dream meant, Mr. Getton?”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Agatha, but I believe that the apocalypse is upon us.”
“Why would you think that, Mr. Getton?”
“Because the next night, I dreamt an oil rig exploded, plunging straight into the sea.”
″...and?”
“The next night, I saw poison in the waters. Litter, lead, rust. People were dying drinking of it.”
“Hmm... All of the things you’ve dreamed of happen all the time. It isn’t like you’ve predicted anything, Mr. Getton. ”
“I know. I know. That’s the reason I believe the end is nigh. These things have already happened, so the world must be coming to an end.”
“They’ve happened over a large span of time, Mr. Getton.”
“I am fully aware...”
“I see... Have you been watching the news lately? Maybe your mind is restlessly troubled with current events that you can neither control or prevent.”
“I AM quite the empath, but I suppose the divine order of these intricately detailed visions means something more.”
“Interesting thought process. Have you had any more dreams since?”
“Yes. I dreamt the skylights were blocked out by clouds of pollution, and the days grew shorter. After that, I dreamt of earthquakes. Oh, terrible earthquakes! People all over the world were enduring endless torment.”
“What kind of torment?”
“All kinds. Horrible torture to the point of desiring a death that never came.”
“Desiring death... attempting suicide?”
“Yes. But to no avail. None of them died until last night when the war was waged. They died by armies of machines.”
“What types of machines?”
“All types. Wretched machines that spat scorching fire and smothering smoke.”
“And you say that was the dream you had last night, Mr. Getton?”
“Correct. That’s how I know the world will end tomorrow. My daughter doesn’t believe me. That’s why she sent me to the likes of you. Quackery, I say.”
″...”
“No offense. I just fail to realize the necessity of consulting a psychiatrist at the final hour. I should be completing my extreme bucket list-- skydiving, snorkeling, binge-watching my favorite sitcom-- not sitting on a futon staring at unidentifiable black blotches.”
“I understand your predicament, Mr. Getton, but, what if I told you the world really wasn’t going to end tomorrow?”
“I’d say you were absurdly naive. Can’t you read the writing on the wall?”
“Maybe I can’t.”
“Then you aren’t very clever. Maybe YOU should be the one sitting here on the futon.”
“I believe that’s all the time we have for today, Mr. Getton.”
“Thank heavens.”
“See you tomorrow, same time?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Agatha, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to make that appointment.”
“And, why is that?”
“Well, you see, tonight I will dream of the thunderstorm.”
“Thunderstorm?”
“Yes. The monstrous thunderstorm. Then, sad to say, the world will finally end.”
“Are you so sure?”
“Positively certain.”
“And, if you’re wrong?”
“I am NOT.”
“I know, Mr. Getton, but just suppose, hypothetically, you were somehow wrong...”
“Fine, Mrs. Agatha. If indeed I am wrong, you shall find me seated on this futon opposite you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Very well then. Good day, Mr. Getton.”
“Good day, Mrs. Agatha. Enjoy it. It’s the last one you’ll have on this planet.”
Mr. Getton arose and stepped out of the office. Mrs. Agatha took a sigh of relief, then glanced out at the overcast slowly creeping above the skyline. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of distant thunder.