The Dreamer Essay, Research Paper

The Dreamer

Nicholas laid alone upon his white sheets, rustling in discontent. His discontent began to grow to fear as he fought harder with the blanket and started to pant and moan softly with the effort. Peace of mind has been so alien these past years. The blinds cast vertical bars of light among the darkness that streamed across his bed and night table. The dream was apparently coming to a climax because Nicholas now dug his nails into the pillow as if waiting for the deathblow that would never come.

All he could do was lie there. His eyes rotated wildly in their sockets and his body was tense refusing to move. As if he were playing dead and whatever pursued him would soon go away. The room around him was modest but not miniscule with white undecorated walls and one window facing east. His small bed pressed up against the opposite wall and a small night table rested beside it. He liked the way the morning sun lit his bed. “It woke him more gently,” he said. There was also a dresser on the wall just left of the window that connected out to the other two rooms of the apartment: the kitchen and the bathroom. Although the bathroom was quite cramped, the kitchen was rather large for an apartment in that type of complex. Nicholas had been living comfortably.

So abruptly awakened, he edged his way toward the window and than gave a large yawn and stretched as the shades slanted horizontally flooding the room with light. His eyes blinked rapidly temporarily blinded by the sudden change. He then shaved, and showered, and began to relax with morning paper that rested just outside his door. The days were easy. Since his pension started coming from the army he could afford to live a little more luxuriously. He sipped his coffee, a blend he had obtained from the Colombian place downtown, and began to dell into the world affairs of the day enjoyable ease. The problems around him simply seemed to affect him less. What the government had given him was a cushion to life, and he loved it.

Perhaps he could go play chess in the park today or take in a movie, he thought to himself. There was a new French film about the war out, but movies are too passive and chess is more of an intellectual pursuit anyway. He liked the strategy involved, how he could command the pieces at will, for glory or demise. He was always in charge, never the pawn. Still the day was dark, so he opted to go to the library instead. No, he changed his mind once more maybe one of those upscale bookstores where you can drink coffee in those big easy chairs. He was tired; he wanted some coffee.