PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Call it an evolutionary spoof or a mix-up in the regulated chronology of time and present. All I know was, I woke up there, one morning. What year was it? God only knows. Why me, and then? Why, in general? This was the ultimate mystery to me.

My name is Jerry Winsted, I am 32 years old. I am a professional photographer in my small town of Plainville, Illinois. The night before the strange occurrence, I came home late from shooting a wedding. I was able to charge them $1,500, the going rate for my skill and talent. I guess you could say they were real partiers, because I got home at about 2:30 in the morning. Bianca, my wife of 14 years, didn’t mind my odd work hours.

When I woke up, there was nothing. No soft blankets or mattress, no steady ethereal breathing of Bianca’s sleeping form, just wind…torrential and merciless…was I in a desert? Yes. As consciousness slowly regathered in my head, I could feel the shifting of dense, boiling hot sand withstanding my weight of 136 lbs. I sat up, feeling the intensity of what seemed to be a sandstorm. Having fully awakened now, I panicked. My heart raced as I turned my head sharply in all directions, searching for signs of life, searching for answers, searching for anything at all. All I saw was the smooth perfect horizon line, bleak and flat, absolutely encumbering everything.

I soon calmed, after bawling for what felt like hours, and began to think rationally. Perhaps I was just mesmerized by such a sullen thrust of reality. I was alone, obviously, marooned to some place I could not locate with my own natural bearings. The land was familiar terrain, for we lived on somewhat desert-like land, only much less barren. Our community, over centuries of progress, sort of rejuvenated the land, planted crops, irrigated water into the fibers of the very soil.

I stood up, and bent backwards. A cramp slowly unraveled and subsided in me.

“I suppose there’s nothing to do but walk, until I find signs of civilization,” I muttered to myself. I was in the habit of talking to myself. It gave me sort of a special relationship with my conscience, like Pinocchio and the cricket. As I walked, I started growing light-headed after a while. I sat to rest my hazy head. I must be lost. There’s no better answer. But how the hell did I get here?! I was absolutely baffled, and started to become upset again. I buried my head in my hands and wept, again.



Was I dreaming? There’s no way. There’s no logic. It was all too real, detailed…consistent. I noticed, when I dream, there is no specific scene, no definite plot, truth, or direction. That was the beauty of a dream. My mind was free of all reason, problems, and reality’s dull action-reaction structure with its bland basis upon nature. When I dreamt, I let go of everything, as if my very existence curled up, and hid within my head.

I was not dreaming. That much, now, was clear to me. My sobs were cut short by a long, smooth, melancholic noise, a strong low hum, of what no doubt came from an animal. It sounded like a muffled version of a droning didgeridoo. I looked up, startled, and saw the shape of…something…in the distance. Was I hallucinating? Was this some sort of trick of the heat? There, in the distance, stood the rounded body of what undoubtedly was a Brachiosaurus. I walked toward the figure, entranced. The closer I approached the hallucination, the more real it seemed a factor quite opposite to what an actual hallucination is like.

In my high school days, I was a partier during my senior year. I drank a lot, smoked the occasional reefer. I remember, though, how I once took acid, my first and only time. I had had a bad trip, and cleaned my act after that night.  Nonetheless, that trip I took changed my life. I saw things through a sort of far sightedness. The further I was from the objects projected forth me, the keener I could view and experience it, but as I came closer, it blurred, became a vague ambience absolutely embellishing me. It was as if it spread like butter, and came back into my head where it was, and hallucinated, seeing me in turn. Two parallel realities, opposite and equal, crossing paths, sharing thoughts. Nowadays, I’ll smoke the

It was the thing that got me interested in photography, the idea of taking a split-second in history, and capturing time, the idea of making history a part of the ever shifting, ever tilting Now. That, to me, was, and always will be the greatest power, to manipulate time, to hold a split-second of history in my hands, to capture it within the four walls of the negative.

Yes, what stood before me, in my mind, was a hallucination, so I thought. I reached out in strange, morbid curiosity of this giant dinosaur, suddenly taken a-shock. I felt its cold, dry skin. It was as dry as something of an alligator, dryer even. It was his left hind leg, this Brachiosaurus. A surge of spasm struck through me, like lightning through a naked river. My body shook, as I stood in the presence of what felt like some sort of…celebrity.

It didn’t seem to notice me, rather to stand there idly, I guessed in order to rest. My vision was scarce still, due to the constant dust in my face. The winds were vicious and merciless. I gazed up at the incredible creature before me, as it gave out a tremendous, deep moan. I cupped my ears, for I could not bear such intense sound. Never had I ever heard so deep a voice. It was a voice that you felt, a voice that you can feel the raw pattern of the vibrations through the very marrow of your bones. The Brachiosaurus lowered its broad neck down to my level and took a long sniff of me.

Obviously, I was of nothing she had seen before, but as I gazed into her deep, numb eyes, I realized how much I really knew of her. She was just another science project, millions of years in the past, from this unbelievably great beast, to just another page in history. She was gentle with me, almost affectionate, in a puppy sort of way. Her eyes seemed so familiar, as if I could recognize her from some previous thought. Memories flashed back to me.

I remember it as if I were really there, in the school lot during recess, playing with model dinosaurs as a young boy, Brian and I. We were both dinosaur nerds. We could tell you any fact, any name, any period of time. I remember Brian was always the Tyrannosaurus Rex, and I was the Brachiosaurus. Perhaps that was the connection I had, subconsciously. As I thought back, I remember one girl, Janice, who was a real bully even to the boys, would threaten us, to either eat sand for her, or watch her burn our precious toys alive. It was about fifth grade then, so children had more or less access to matches.

I knew it all then. Over the years, my passion decayed and new passions birthed, leaving my dinosaur hobby to fade away into the darkest depths of my subconscious. I opened my eyes. My heart jumped a beat then, for strangely, the beast had not moved her head an inch. She breathed deeply, sucking me to her nostril like a vacuum. I panicked as she lifted her head then. Higher and higher, like a fireman on a hook-and-ladder truck. The suction ceased, and I lost what little grip I had. Panic was furious in my veins as I desperately grabbed for anything…

ANYTHING…

I fell, landing on a coarse, rough surface, rigid as sandpaper. I sat up to a steady sound of enormous stomps. We were moving. Her back swayed as I sat up. My head hurt, splitting pain cutting through it like a blade through a melon. I took a deep breath, and laid back down with a long sigh. I looked up into the sky and closed my eyes, my vision red behind my eyelids. I began to speak to myself.

“I am in a dream…” she snorted “…This must be a dream, some deep realm of my subconscious. But… I woke up. No one wakes up in a dream… No one…” I thought for a moment. “As ridiculous as it sounds…I am back in time. Prehistoric time.” I then pictured myself as Michael J. Fox, in ‘Back to the Future.’ It was a ridiculous thought. “It’s all a dream, Jerry. Perhaps some enigmatic comatose state, or a coma.”

My consciousness blurred and soon disappeared as I went sleep, mesmerized by the droning beat of her footsteps, and the marinating heat of the sunlight. I dreamt of my wife, our home. It was our wedding day in our backyard. Everyone was there. I saw the faces of my co-workers in our little photography gig at the time, Benny, Alex, Jordan, and Bruce. Their faces merged in this surrealistic metamorphosis. The figures of my four partners, now one figure, went up to Bianca, my newly wed, and kissed her. At first I thought nothing of it, just a friendly kiss, but as their lip contact drew out, anger roused. Fury boiled as the figure’s hands groped her, as she groped back, passionately. She breathed the name, “Brian…” I screamed, and suddenly woke. Immediately, I thought of my grade school friend, Brian. He was at our wedding, him and his sister Tracey. He was 22 and single at the time.

“It was a dream, Jerry, an all too real dream,” I said to myself in self-pity, “A dream within a dream.” I felt the raw angst in my stomach, as if Bianca really had cheated on me with Brian. He was a good friend of the family, but not extremely close with Bianca. I stopped myself then. I was a grown man, and there was no conceivable way that dream was reasonable evidence of anything.

My mouth was dry and my stomach ached with the vacancy of hunger. There was a heap of vegetation, ripped out of the ground. The dinosaur who had brought me here basked in the moonlight, chewing away, I grabbed a leaf of…something…and devoured it, one of those foods that was all aftertastes. I gagged it up, disgusted by it. I decided to venture out, in search of my own salad.

I walked. My footfalls were steady upon the mossy ground, and sturdy. This was because the ground of the forest was, in fact sturdier, than that of the desert. In the desert, I had waded through the feverish, blunting heat of the sand, feeling it soak me in like a sponge would soak up water. As I stepped, my legs would sink into the seemingly endless depths of the beach sand, down to my knees, sometimes even my groin. It was as if in every step, in every inhale I took of the heavy heat, I sank deeper into this faint existence, slowly becoming more an element of this baffling dimensia.

I slept frequently, as if I was a newborn babe napping every two hours. Perhaps it was the mind-bending, subconscious reaction to the reality of such an expanse, such a leap of time-travel, traveling through great eons of lives, trillions upon trillions of lives and deaths.

As I walked the wood, I thought of these things, adapting to this odd reality, trying to gain my bouncing bearings. I lifted my head, as if out of shallow mud puddle of thought. I looked around the forest, viewing the thick, intricate mix of trees and shrubbery. Large, plump insects curtsied from healthy flower to healthy flower, drinking down their sweet pollen, which was liquid. The moon was strong and pale, shining upon everything in its focal point. The trees were of unspeakable immensity, with width of a large room. The muscular roots clamped hard to the ground and sank deep into the bed of soil. What unimaginable beauty! What grandeur harmony within this forest! It was like none I had ever seen before. I then remembered what it was I was in search of, my practical necessities.

My throat was dry and stung with thirst, as I heard the panoramic sound of running water. My head cocked to the side instinctively, creating a great cramp in my spine. I groaned in strain, confused about where the water came from. I walked on, until I reached a river, small, simple, and prosperous. My heart knelt in gratitude, as did I, plunging my head into the strange water, not caring what sort of health condition it may have. I let in gulp after gulp, my long hair drowned in the miniscus. I withdrew, my throad throbbing with pleasure, aching with the pure branding of satisfaction.

      I walked back, feeling a bit stronger. The toiling thoughts of my wife seemed to temporarily fade. I had a water source, a companion, if you want to call her that, and a beautiful forest to spend my days. I collected dried sticks and birch bark, loading them all to the spot the Brachiosaurus had sat. On the last trip out, I had gone too far. I turned around in confusion as to where to go, and tripped on a muscle-fat root. I landed in a mess of vines and leaves, when I smelt the unreal, familiar scent. I got up, excitedly and saw the plants. They were incredibly large-size marijuana plants, with the leaves the size of ferns, all in one small patch. I felt a little child who had stumbled on his father's stash. I hesitated, though, remembering my years of drugs, my years of incredible consumtion of reefer. I knew better. I knew what happened when my parents caught me. They called the cops.

     I stood, considering my odds. On one hand, I had quit drugs years ago, and had no intention on starting up again. It ruined my life, and when I hit rock bottom there was only one way to go, which was up. I regretted ever trying it. On the other hand, I enjoyed it every time. My mind explored such euphoric realms, my thoughts absolutely fuzzed. There was no law here, in this time and place. I was free, completely free.

     I decided against it. I went back to the campsite and set up the fire. I was a cub scout as a boy, and could remember some things, but not all. But, one thing I had always had no trouble with was lighting fires. I was the only one in my troop who could rub two sticks together and make a fire. It took a few hours, but not without success. I set to work, rubbing two brittle twigs together over the neat layout of logs and tinder. I rubbed until my arms grew tired, and I had almost stopped, when I smelt the smell of burning oak. I looked down to see a tiny flame, slowly growing as it spread about the fire I had built. I sighed with relief and contentment.

My companion, who I had decided to name Matilda, was fast asleep. I sat back and gazed at her admiringly. How could such an incredible, unstoppable animal become extinct? It was inconceivable to me. My stomach growled with the vacancy of hunger. I got up slowly and set out for food. As I entered the thick wood, leaving the small field that lay just outside it where we had camped. I looked around at the various plants, the leaves and blossoms, the sweet, delicious looking pollen that looked as wonderful as honey. I picked several flowers that seemed to be satisfying to the belly, and a handful of leaves the size of a coffee table book. When I returned to my fire, I sat in the light and examined the entrees.

I had never been a great cook, but I knew how to prepare food for myself. I took a leaf and bit it, cautiously and suspiciously. The taste was very strong, like a piece of kale with too much pepper. I liked it, nonetheless. I took a blossom and sipped the syrup. It was like honey, sweet and thick. I then poured a flower of pollen and nectar onto a leaf and took a large bite. My senses were on edge, and I felt a natural high electrocute through me. I lay back, and stared up at the stars. A slight buzz sneaked up on my mind, lightly producing a finesse vibration to my thoughts.

I stared up at the stars. They were plentiful and clear. It amazed me to notice that all of the stars were just as they are in my times. Orion, Big Dipper, Little Dipper. I found the north star and sulked my eyes upon it. As I said, I was a cub scout. As I did, it seemed to shiver, as if craving the seductive warmth of the sun. It then throbbed, in and out, in and out. Panic kicked in my mind. I looked down at my unfinished supper to see that the leaf I had eaten was a giant marijuana leaf! I stood up, startled by the realism of my position. As I did my body was swiftly thrown off balance. My eyes swayed in all directions like a spotlight. I lay down in frustration, tired and stoned. As I looked up at the sky, I found the north star once again.

“Ahh, Bianca,” I said in an overly pleasant voice.

The star grew, suddenly, and drew back once again like a heartbeat. The beating of my own heart quickened its pace, racing, as if trying to catch up with the star. I gazed into it numbly, as a thick yellow hue surfaced at the edges of the star. I chuckled seductively at it. The farthest voice in my mind, trying to intervene with the drug’s magic spell, spoke in strange tongue to me, a barbaric language. It chanted and coiled around my thoughts as I kept my eyes peeled to the star. The color of the yellow melted, darkened into a smooth dirty blonde, the exact color of Bianca’s hair.

“Bianca…I am close…” I whispered desperately.

She reached a finger out, and I felt in my palm the feeling of a hand, grasping tight and determined. I drew her close and kissed her, and as I did, I felt as if I had left her, as if I were in someplace warmer, euphoric and radiant. Lights shone into my eyes, almost burning them. I felt her tongue caressing mine, and I the same, but I could not see her. Was she here? No. My mind was sure of that.

As I took a deep breath through my nose, I heard the wise voice of a man.

“Yes, the salivary glands on her tongue are incredible!” he said analytically.

“I concur. They seem to be at least a hundred times as sensative as ours,” another manly voice said.

I raised my head, and the kissing ceased. I drew up, feeling the length of my neck exaggerated. I looked myself over, and to my horror…I was Matilda! I, myself, in this body, was a prehistoric dinosaur! Panic roared and lost its temper in my heart as I leapt up, savagely. I looked around to see in black and white, clean-cut men with clipboards and white coats. They were examining me! I charged at them, knocking equipment over as I did, fixating my charge at one target, a small, skinny man with an evil glare. As I came closer, his mouth grew larger, swallowing me with a deep growl, and suddenly, it was calm. I was with Bianca, as she slowly drew her lips from mine.

“Was that nice, Brian?” I heard her say in an echoing voice.

“Brian?! This is Jerry! Your husband! Your lover!” Wind struck me and I was swept away, or was it her who was swept away? The grip of the drug made it difficult to distinct the movement of myself and other objects.

I woke up the next morning, about a half a mile further from the site. My head throbbed as I looked up to see Matilda’s immense, loving self strut towards me. My vision was blurry, and all I wanted was to sleep forever. That marijuana last night was no ordinary marijuana. I was tripping, obviously. It was the most disturbing experience of my life. I had quit drugs entirely, up until that point, and I had no intention on continuing it. It was a bad trip, yes, and an eye-opening one at that. I got up and fed myself, careful as to what I ate.

I began to wonder, was it by coincidence that I picked the pot leaf? I was not in the premises that I had found the pot at all, and I would have smelt the marijuana distinctly. The enigma baffles me to this day. Was it my own head that tripped itself, to think it was the drug? Or was it that an accidental pot leaf resided there for the prime reason, of me to pick it? Was I the center of this universe? It is an impenetrable mystery which I can never explain.

Weeks went by, months even. Brian and Bianca’s imaginary affaire haunted me, sometimes more, sometimes less. I grew accustomed to Matilda’s presence, and grew to love her. I taught myself to hunt smaller dinosaurs around the area, and what plants tasted good and what didn’t. I grew used to the cold weather, and the hot weather of the desert, too. We were always on the move, over mountains, across deserts. The land seemed to go on forever.

Then, one morning, I found myself lying in an unfamiliar yet irresistably comforatable surface. The rhythm of an unpleasant beeping was sounding in the background. I raised my head, and suddenly came to life. I was home. My heart sank in desire of my closest friend, Matilda. As I stood, I felt the strong urge to walk into the kitchen with a great accusation, pointed directly at Bianca. She was already up, as she always is before I am. I stopped myself, reminding myself of what nonsense the idea of her and Brian having an affaire was. I entered the kitchen, slowly sinking in the deep recognition of my home. I saw my Bianca, and walked stiffly to her side. There was a long silence between us. Then she spoke:

“I…I’m sorry about Brian, Jerry. I would have told you, but…I was scared…I knew how much you loved being the Brachiosaurus…and I couldn’t ruin that.





-The End-