Never Trust a Talking Duck

He had woken up that morning with the dream still fresh in his mind. Certain imagery featured in his dreams more often than others. Forests, rivers, islands, ancient structures and flight, which he dreamt of frequently as a child, but of which the occurrence had become more sporadic. His dreams had a tendency to verge on the fantastical, which unnerved him, but which he had great affection for. He despised realistic dreams intensely, feeling that they confused his reality.

That night marked the second dream he had had of a talking duck. In his dream, he had been trying to find his way out of a forest and so came upon a duck, who directed him, but whose directions ended up being false. As a result, his experience of talking ducks had been that they tended to be mischievous creatures, eager to be taken seriously by others yet deceptive in their promulgations. Could it be that talking ducks spoke in riddles? The prospect of riddling ducks, though fascinating, made him wonder whether, in dreams, one might ever converse with them effectively. He found his mind decidedly less agile in dreams, and so, less able to decipher the riddles of ducks.

As his mind drifted into consciousness, he realised that describing him as "a little strange" may not have been entirely inaccurate, although he found most people to be such. He imagined that most people desired to travel into the realms of their unconscious more often and at will. Many individuals did, he thought, though not without some help from their friends. To others, the prospect seemed impractical, because they associated it with a loss of control.

He knew that, to him, the life he left behind in all endeavours material was one that acted both centripetally and centrifugally on him, never wanting to let him go. Always, it wanted more, anxiously awaiting his return. He sometimes ventured there when he aught not to, when the world he found himself in now demanded everything. In times of loss, grief, sorrow and loneliness, he often went there, for in that world, everything seemed as it should be, perfectly proportioned.

Perhaps one day he might return, taking with him those he held most dear. Perhaps he might once again rule over endless landscapes of cypress trees, rivers and ancient structures, and over his minion of duplicitous ducks.