One Hour Haze

May 28, 2017 by Patrick Starks

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Who was she? That dream… it felt way to real. It was weird… I felt like I knew her, like I’ve seen her before, but this was different—I’ve never met such a woman in person or at least that’s what I thought. How can I dream or see someone I’ve never met before? Was is it that I saw her some point in my life or was it that I could see deeply into the future, the present.

However, this so-called dream… was something odd—it seemed like she was in trouble—that she needed my help. But what was I to do? I am just a man—a man witnessing a dramatic scene in third person. Even if I could, how was I to find her? How could I find myself back to that same dream?

An old woman that sat across the table from the man then spoke. “There is a way.”

Her eyes were sharp like a snake, cheeks round, but bumpy like a chocolate chip muffin.

She had tiny lips that wrapped around the end of her cigar as she inhaled and exhaled the clouds of smoke that surrounded her. What stood between her and the man was a crystal ball, but not like the ones seen in those eighties tv shows—no… this one was one was odd, believably real.

“What do you mean there is way? I mean… I know you are supposed to be psychic and all, but that’s just insane.”

“Indeed, it is insane, yet very sane, if you catch my drift. Tell me young man, why do you want to find this woman? Are you in love with her? Why does she intrigue you so?”

“No… I mean… of course not. I’ve never met her in my life, how could I possibly love a woman I’ve never met.”

“Oh so ignorant you are. Most people today fall in love way before they have known each other—when you know, you just know. And I can see it in your eyes that you felt something for her didn’t you.”

The man hesitated. His eyes wondered the room as he honestly couldn’t look the woman in her eyes. Although, who could consider such intimidating eyes—eyes that could see through all the lies one would put in front of it.

The man responded. “Not at all… I mean, maybe just a little. I don’t know.”

“Then that sums up the answer to my question, take my hand young man.”


“Just do it and you will find out soon enough.”

The young man then grabbed the old woman’s hand. They were cold, surprisingly soft, but so frail he’d fear he would break them. The young man slowly closed his eyes as everything around him became dark. His hands became cold just like the old woman’s, however, his teeth began to chatter. His breathing became heavy as if he’d ran for miles.

His heart pounded fast and slow in rhythm—sounding like drum sets being played at a rock concert. With now the thoughts of dying running through his mind, he awakened.

What the man now saw was something he’d never seen before. A different world, a different life. A world non-like the one he’d reside in, but much different. There were now rivers of ice flowing everywhere, while objects that appeared in the form of cars soared the skies. He thought to himself “Wow, did that old lady put me in one of her old Jetson Cartoons.”

However, this went much deeper than an old Jetson cartoon. After a moment of time that felt like hours, the old lady finally spoke.

“Go to her.”

“What!? Where are you? Where am I?”

“I am here, where else would I be. Such an ignorant young man you are. Stop meddling, you need to hurry. The woman is in deep trouble and you only have an hour to save her.”

“An hour? What the hell! I mean… Where the hell am I supposed to start? Look where I am! She could be miles away!”

“You start now, you start here.”

“Yes I heard you! But where? Where do I start!?”

The old woman faded, the young man became lost. He pondered to why he’d even bother to pursue in such a dream, such a fantasy, such a woman. He looked around for signs, for help, but all he could think about was how cold it was and how was he to solve an unknown trouble in an hour.

The pieces of ice within the river then formed into some mysterious paths—a path of good fortune or sorrow—one would only think. The young man hesitated as he’d always do, but realized he really didn’t have any other choice, but to move forward.

As he began to move along the path, he saw a piece of cloth—a piece of cloth that matched the exact clothing of the woman he saw in his dream.  The cloth was slightly frozen, slashes upon it, with slight hint of her sweet-smelling aroma. The man recognized it very well and knew for a fact that this was surely the woman he was searching for. He looked down at the apple watch that he’d gotten for his birthday, realizing that he now had forty-two minutes remaining.

The man wrapped the torn piece of cloth around his neck for warmth and persisted forward. This is where the journey begins.

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