Free Hey Mortality by Luke Kinsella

tie displayed just below his throat. His outfit certainly didn’t match that of a Japanese businessman. He looked more like an outsider, lost to a time long forgotten. He was already seated, drinking a cup of tea that most likely contained no sugar, caffeine, or reason to drink it.
    “Hey!” I exclaimed as I took my seat opposite him.
    “Hey!” he shouted, as he matched my own enthusiasm.
    I beckoned the waitress over and ordered a soy latte and a glass of water.
    Jun looked good, his face was radiant and his eyes were ever alert. He had never looked better.
    “You look great,” I told him, “what is it this time?”
    “New diet. I’ve got rid of almost everything. No sugar, no caffeine, no animal products.”
    “Well it looks like it’s working.”
    “Yeah, thanks man. You said on the phone you’ve been having some weird dreams?” he said, jumping right in without wanting to waste any more time on formalities.
    “Yeah,” I told him, “it all started about two months ago, the day I got with Lucy.” Jun nodded as if he was listening deeply, and perhaps he was. “They began as just small fragments of what seemed like memory, and over the last few weeks have grown to become something of a reality, like tiny drops of water coming together to form one giant droplet. Now, three of four times a week I have this same dream, each time more information adding to the scene. Like a picture being painted in my head, all coming together, slowly and eventually.”
    “Interesting,” Jun said. “So tell me, what is the content of the dream now? What has the story manifested into?”
    “I will describe it from the start. I am at the edge of an old town, the pavement is cobblestone, and the houses look like they’ve been here since the dawn of time. I know certainly that I am at the edge of town, this is always how my dream starts. Behind me there is nothing but near darkness, masked by a grey sheet of fog.
    “I always start by walking into the town. On the way I see a passageway shaded by an overhanging stone archway. Flowers hang from the arch in small wooden baskets. The baskets are full of blossoming little yellow flowers. I take a careful look around, there is no one else on the street, only me. Water is dripping from the baskets forming small puddles on the path below. The scent of the flowers is not strong, overpowered by something else here. I want to smell the flowers though, I have an urge to inhale their scent, but to my dismay, when I inhale, the only smell I detect is the scent of freshly baked bread.”
    “I could kill for some bread,” Jun interrupted, as if thinking out loud.
    “I can order some if you like?”
    “No thanks, the gluten will get me.” Jun paused, sipped his tea, and then said, “Sorry, please continue.”
    “Okay, well instead of investigating what is probably a bakery, I continue walking into town, before finally reaching what feels like the middle. The path opens up into a large courtyard. The sun is shining, but the air is cool, crisp. Birds fly above me and ants crawl below. I don’t know how I know, but in my dream, it is most definitely Tuesday. Always a Tuesday.
    “I am standing in a giant stone courtyard surrounded by more old buildings. A river flows through the middle of the town, and there is a bridge. I spot my first sign of life outside the Bank Building. A man holding a sign made from the remains of a cardboard box. Scribbled across the sign in red ink is some indecipherable alien looking text. He sees me looking at him, before shouting something in a language I don’t understand.
    “I head to the bridge. Here, three small ducks swim around in the river below, they look hungry for bread. ‘Hello ducks,’ I say to the ducks. They continue to dabble in the shallow waters, completely ignoring me.
    “The bridge features a wooden plaque; carved simply into its rotting surface is a single word, Bridge . No identity at all. The bridge is old, some fifty years old by