I barely need to leave this street to live my life, the
one that will end soon. My home occupies the two floors above the tavern, Indian
and Chinese take-away shops either side of the pub and a chip shop that opens
at midnight between the supermarket and electrical store across the cobbled
road. I go weeks sometimes without moving more than half a mile from my home,
why would I?
My abode is mine so long as I live up to the high
standards of my university which occupies the two floors above my home, the
three that rest on the arch that crosses the road and two above the other side
of the road. There’s a basement somewhere but it doesn’t have a window and
after all of the twists and turns I have no idea where it is.
The university accepts only the ten greatest candidates
it can find every year whose family can pay the fees and keep their silence.
For the money, which my parents never discussed, I’m being taught twelve hours
a day by the greatest minds on the planet. It’s a tough regime with a twenty
five per cent drop out rate but its alumni occupy a disproportionate numbers of
pages in Nobel prize-winner lists.
I’m in my second year now; there are only eight of us
now. The other two couldn’t hack it. Soon there will be seven; I’m not long for
this world. I didn’t know it when I drifted off but I have a few loose
connections in my brain that will be severed by my movements when I wake. This
is my last dream.
Being asleep this isn’t one of the visions that people
talk about when they have near death experiences whilst awake. Everything is
more fluid, the world is a bit more as I’d want it than it ever was. The girl I
like smiles back when I relive talking to in this last mirage. She’ll be a
famous activist and campaigner for peace, she’ll oversee treaties when war
threatens and because I’ll be dead she’ll actually remember me.
My best friend Martin Bashir will be the owner of the
largest renewable energy company in Britain by the time he’s thirty and the
largest in the world when he hits fifty seven. He’ll be nominated for a Nobel
peace prize that will quite rightly go to the woman who cured
Anti-Imuno-Deficiency-Syndrome.
I’m not the only one of my year that will die young, the
red haired boy we never talk to will die less than a decade from now but not
before he’s changed the face of music and become a legend the whole world will
mourn.
My younger brother will follow me here too and my father
will be happy for him to have made money with his investments though in reality
the money would have made a fourth as much in a high interest account.
I will be found by Martin, my eyes open to the world I
will never see. I walk my last steps through this endless shady tavern, past
the fake-guild frame on the huge plasma TV that makes it look like a cheap
black mirror. I know all of this and that it will be lost to the world when I
walk through the emergency exit into the bright sunlight of death. This was my
last dream and now I wake.
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