The breeze overwhelms my body with chills. The sight of Colorado white-capped mountains and lush evergreens keep my mind at ease, coexistent with my cold body. I can’t give up, I tell myself, I have to get back down.

My planning wasn’t excellent. The sun is already setting. I have essential gear to get by for the night, but I don’t want to sleep in the cold. My car isn’t far from the base of the mountain . . . but I am. I decide to go for it, anyway. After covering my torso with a heavy coat, I put on my backpack and strap it securely at my waist. The descent won’t be the smoothest, so I have to ensure my gear will stay with me. The journey commences.

I take steps with heavy feet and sturdy boots. Hikes like these are usually no problem, but the cold can get to me. From my skin to my lungs, I feel the temperature rapidly change. It’s what I should’ve expected for a late fall night. Eventually, the last sign of the sun vanishes, all except for the luminous fullmoon. My nearing to a vertical descent forms inadequate confidence for the task. My gut tells me to stop, but my mind remains far too determined. So, I approach the edge.

This is the same wall I climbed to make it to the top. The drop is a good 30 feet. Not terribly high, but still a deadly fall. I take caution when preparing to free-climb down. From the edge, facing the wall, I guide my feet to a wedge. Comfortable with the rugged rock, I let go from the top and work my hands to the natural grips of the rock. Following the wedge downwards, I accomplish nearly half of the climb flawlessly. Then, CRUNCH! A rock ledge disintegrates at the pressure of my foot. With the loss of a foot support, I attempt to recover my error, grabbing at the wedge. I plummet towards the ground, grinding and tumbling against the coarse wall. My rights arm slips into a crevasse, being ripped apart by the sharp and rusty stone.  Inevitably, I hit the ground with a thud. 

A little girl’s voice shouts my name in the dark forest. “Travis! Help me!” she scream with a painful cry. I try to follow the cries. I get closer and closer to the source, and soon find myself standing outside of a cave. The shouts continue, clearly coming from deep inside the cave.

I awake. My heart races from the adrenaline of the dream. I briefly look towards my injury. My arm is definitely broken, and my hand is useless, but I don’t feel anything. It is still dark, with no sight of morning ahead. I stand up and scan my surroundings. This is the same starting point of my dream. With curiosity, I follow the same path that I took in my sleep. All of the details are the same.  From the structures of the earth, to the same branches I stumble on, to the sound of the wind—but I don’t hear the shouts.  Once again, I come across the entrance of the cave.  I pull out my flashlight stashed in my bag and turn it on. Silence. Everything goes quiet. No leaves shuffling. No wind. No sound except for that of my own breath. I enter the hollow, deep cave.

The cave is colder than the outside air. I can see my breath through the shining light. My footsteps echo through the seemingly never ending darkness. I retain caution, but my awareness slowly disappears. Following my dying awareness, my balance, then my eyesight begins to give out. With pulsating vision, I stumble towards a rock sitting along the cave’s wall. I drop to my bottom, failing to use my right arm. The flashlight lays at the other wall, shining at me. Looking down, I see blood seeping through my coat’s canvas. I decide to examine the arm’s wound to see the severity. I remove the shredded coat only to find a slop of flesh and bone. Adrenaline rushes through me at the sight. I quickly tear a piece of my undershirt with my knife. Using my left hand and teeth, I awkwardly tie the piece of shirt around my right shoulder to hinder blood loss. I throw my coat back on, grab my flashlight, and leave my bag behind; it would only slow me down.

I run, now thinking that I don’t have much time. I don’t know where I’m running. With all the different paths the cave has, I get lost, but keep running. After a few quick and unconscious decisions, I break through an opening of the cave. Miraculously, I look around to find that I’m not even ten feet above my car. I trek down carefully, yet quickly.

My keys! They’re in my bag! I ignore the fact and smash my head into the driver seat’s window. I reach into the car with my left arm and pull out my cell phone from the center console. Holding the phone up, I get the one bar of service I need and dial 911. I tell the woman to trace my call. As she continues to ask questions, I begin to respond with mumbles. I drop to the ground, shivering, bleeding, and falling asleep.

Light. Is it day? I ask myself. My vision clears and I can clearly acknowledge that I’m in an emergency room. I listen to the doctor talking outside the room.

“A minute later and this guy would’ve been a goner,” says the doctor.

Thinking about what he said, I realize that the dream actually saved my life. The dream led me to the cave, and the cave was most definitely a short cut. A minute later, and I would’ve been dead. The cave allowed me another chance at life. I don’t know why I’ve been given this chance, but I will use it wisely.