The Overpass

I had a dream early this morning, long before dawn.

I was standing on a highway overpass, overlooking a city’s downtown on a gray and still day. Somehow, I knew this city was in Central New York, where I had spent my journalism years, but something was different. I was confused.

I had planned to walk into town, but I was overwhelmed with apprehension, a sense that I should remain on that overpass. So I did, and in that moment, the first building began to fall. It had been leaning slightly already, but the pressure was too great. It crumbled and crashed into the next building, which also collapsed.

The weight of the rubble broke a nearby dam and the highway below me became an instant river, turbulent and wide. I saw no one — no people fighting the current, no vehicles floating downstream, no bodies anywhere. I heard nothing — no crash of concrete and steel, no rushing water, no screams.

My decision had isolated and insulated me.

I was alone on the overpass, safe and alive and terrified.

5 thoughts on “The Overpass

  1. Lori,
    Creativity is complex. I’m no psychologist, but I think our subconscious and conscious selves form a partnership that contributes to a writer’s creativity. I feel lucky when I can awake and remember the snippets of stories unfolding in my REM sleep. I haven’t keep stats on how many stories originate that way, but there have been many. Of course, my conscious self has to put a bit of order in those dream scenes. LOL.
    Interesting post….

  2. Hi Lori,

    I think dreams unleash our subconscious creativity. Nightmares, for instance, are a great source for horror fiction. It’s always good to keep a notepad and pen on a nightstand so you can write down vivid dreams on waking.

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