Story: The Dream
author unknown

Somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming, I found myself in a very strange room. One wall was completely covered with index card files like those outdated file trays you used to see in the library. They were shelved from floor to ceiling. As I walked to the files, I noticed one that read, "People I have liked." I opened it and began to flip through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

Suddenly I became aware that this sterile room of files was a crude catalog system of my life. Here-in this room-was written the actions and thoughts of my every moment, big and small.

Well, emotions mixed between curiosity and horror, as I began to rummage through the files, randomly opening files to explore their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named, "Friends" was next to the one marked, "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost laughable, like "Things I Have Called My Dog." Others I could not brush off: "Things I Have Done in My Anger." "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life that I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my forty years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Signed with my signature.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size did not matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became separate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my head against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title said, "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, almost like new. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tear came. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from an overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then, I saw him. No please not him. Not now, not here. I watched as he began to open the files and read the cards. I could not bear to watch his response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at him, I saw a sorrow deeper than mine.. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.

Finally, he turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in his eyes. But this was something that did not anger me. I dropped my head. He walked over and put his arm around me. He could have said so many things. But he did not say a word. He just cried with me.

Then he got up a walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, he took out a file and one by one, began to sign his name over mine on each card.

"What are you doing," I shouted. All I could find to say was, "no, no please, no, as I pulled the card from him. His name should not be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. His name covered mine. Written in blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I do not think I will ever understand how he did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and he led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

--author unknown