Double Post, but this will be worth it;
Here is my dream from last night.
I'm in a small piece of land surrounded by a high brick wall, it's possibly late summer or perhaps a late spring afternoon. The land is no bigger than your average allotment, only it is empty apart from the occasional tuft of grass and empty flower pot and an old worn down tree.
The tree can talk. The tree though is depressed. For many thousands of years the withered oak has occupied his same position braving the elements and the lapse of time itself. Each day his eyes would burn from exposure to direct sunlight.
But, he can't move. He's a tree.
There is an old man in the garden, he's planting a row of seeds. I watch him as he gradually fades, just then a monkey appears unbeknown to me, he looks like a non animated version of Family Guy's Evil Monkey.
The Monkey climbs to the top of the wall, where he begins to screw off the top of the wall, which is a stump, possibly once upon a time it were an artistic stone sculpture, but years of weathering had left it to become no more than the mere stump it currently is. The monkey with evil intentions twists and twists at the stump of stone gradually weakening it before it unceremoniously falls and knocks me out.
The head trauma I suffered was so severe that for the next 60 years I drifted in and out of comas. Between each coma I did little other than sleep and have blackouts.
When I awoke, things had changed. Everyone I had known had died.
All that remained were the tree, the old man, who was well over 200 years old by now and I. The monkey had been impounded, the tree would reveal to me that charges could not be placed on him as he was ineligible for prosecution, as he was a monkey.
So, for 60 years the monkey had waited along with other impounded possessions waiting on somebody freeing him from captivity.
The tree was much more upbeat despite being the bearer of such bleak news. During my absence there had been an Ice Age which had killed off the majority of Earth's population, yet the process of glacial erosion had caused the tree to be uprooted and carried to a shady spot in front of the now cracked backwall.
The sun was no longer in his eyes, and he wore ribbons of purple and neon green despite looking paler in complexion.
The gardener still wearing his same overalls and plaided shirt was on his knees putting the finishing touches to his garden. He had planted his final row of nettles.
Despite the deposits of stone and mud that the Ice Age had brought to the garden, which had now been dubbed 'The Secret Garden' by the old man, he continued to persevere and had succeeded in planting the nettles.
We spoke and he said I may proceed into the next garden. The garden to which I was not aware of its existence, however I could not enter alone.
My age, as well as my lack of life experience made it a considerable danger for me to enter solo.
I looked to the tree for companionship. He could not oblige, because he was a tree.
The old man had spent too much time in the Secret Garden and it was too late for him to move on now.
Had I wanted to enter I would have had to find another person who was willing and able.
I had to enter because there was something I had to see, something I must experience, but also there were perilous dangers. The old man and tree warned me of them but did not divulge their identity.
It was then, I woke up.
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