Sunday, January 4, 2015

The small man.

This was quite a complicated dream: 

The time period felt like it was the late 1800's. I was traveling across country  on my own but had to join a small community for the winter. There were rumors of a haunting in one of the small cabins on the edge of the town that peaked my curiosity so much that I went to have a look. Several townsfolk warned me not to go near it but I really don't believe in such things. 

As I got closer I could hear moaning and what sounded like something dragging on floorboards. I opened the door to find a small man covered in black hair and filth with both arms missing.  I turned on my lantern but he howled at the sight of it. He was shackled to a stone wall. A heavy iron chain lay around his neck. I set him free then pulled him outside into the moonlight.
"What happened? Who did this to you" I asked.
He took a deep breath, thanked me for freeing him then told me his tale.

One hundred years ago George Washington found him on a trip to Trenton in a deep ravine. With the help of a local doctor he was nursed back to health. Once he returned to Virginia, Washington tried to raise him but found that he was just too wild. Under Benjamin Rush's recommendation Washington felt he had no choice but to send the boy away. President after president carried the secret of the boy's whereabouts until they no longer took the time to investigate the truth. He had lost track of the years that passed since the last presidential visit. He survived on bugs, mice and the dripping roof when it rained. 

I returned him to the nearest major city where I had him cleaned up proper. To my surprise he looked like Peter Dinklage. Magically, his arms grew back in by the day's end. 

As time went on I watched as he rose into the ranks of the wealthy and powerful. As I got to know him I quickly found out that it was all earned by his own efforts. He genuinely cared about the people, doing everything he could to help them with God blessing him in the process. 

To no one's surprise the small man ran for president. A ruthless smear campaign was run by the incumbent president but it failed. The small man  was elected president by a landslide but the former president refused to stand down. We lead a large group to the old armory where we prepared ourselves for war. Barricades were built, canons were loaded and rifles were prepped to fire.

As night fell fires broke out around us, blinding us from seeing into the darkness. Suddenly hundreds of soldiers stormed the armory. We were hopelessly outgunned. They tore through us quickly. I, along with several others, escaped into an old courtyard that was covered in dry sand and a few large sage bushes. I hid behind the smallest bush while the others hid behind the larger ones. Soldiers entered the courtyard searching for escapees. I crawled under the bush only to find that it was the grave of former President James Polk. Polk spoke to me from beneath the sand, "Plant flowers above my grave if you can."

Suddenly it was years later. The small man died in the siege and I now lived across from the burned out remains of the armory. Everyday I visited the courtyard containing Polk's grave but the flowers I planted would never grow. Occasionally I would see the small man's wife walking about the streets. We would quietly nod in respect to her husband. 

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