Harold Lamptey are you Outside your Head?

Harold fidgeted in his bed. “Wake up” he thought. No, not wake up “Get up!” He was transfixed. Body paralyzed and mind alive to the annoying predicament he found himself in. These occurrences weren’t supposed to, well occur anymore, but today he found himself stuck in his body and wondering in his mind.

When he thought about what he would be doing instead of perishing in his sunken bed mattress, there wasn’t much at all out there. His rocking chair. Maybe Charlotte and her heavy shoulders carrying some weight.

Oh yes! Outside. He could be outside breathing in the fresh dew that settled on the broad evergreen leaves that resided on his lawn. Forcing his mind to make some connection to his body, Harold focused on moving his finger. “At the very least I can twitch the damn thing.”

Frustrated at this apparent disconnect between his mind and body Harold shut his eyes.

His breathing gently declined from a trot to a slow step.

In.

Out.

Inhale.

Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.

In hale.

Ex hail………..

A strong wind lashed into the deteriorating bedroom. The books on the shelves were trashed onto the floor and wardrobe doors flapped open and closed maddeningly. The mattress itself fell, and Harold was “floating?” he shockingly realized. Eyes quivering, he felt a strong force lifting him up. The ends of huge wings soared into view and a golden haired man appeared by his face, whisking him upward. Before long, the bedroom Harold had previously existed in was below him, and the broad unending blue sky was all around him. The man turned his head in a curious fashion, almost like an owl, and smiled at Harold. Harold whimpered a reply. “God, am I going to heaven?”

The clouds around him were stolen by the sky and he was soon consumed by a purple darkness. He turned towards the golden winged man for some assurance, but his head had turned to skeleton and on his wings hung loose dying skin. “What cruel joke is this?”

Upward they went past the sky, the earth and into the oblivion.

The skeleton head turned to him again. In its eye sockets were windows and Harold gazed into them. What he saw made him shiver. A child lay face up with her head upon a tree stump. Bright blue pock-dotted dress, and a crooked smile etched on her face. Then a man, as quiet as sleep, marched towards the little girl and hacked her little head off clean with a brutish-looking instrument.

“NO!” Screamed Harold, tears streaming down his face.

“NO MORE!” Screaming madly.

It happened again and again, each time the girl looked up at Harold with a disquieting smile that drove him into an uncontrollable frenzy of fear.

“Please make it stop!” He asked the winged man.

No mouth opened, but Harold heard the soft hiss loud enough “never.”

Breathing declined gently from a trot to a slow step. Harold accepted the burden of his new existence.

Then he was up in his bedroom. Everything seemingly in place and undisturbed.