Dream Jumper: The Chronicles of Arjen Top

The first time I dreamt about leaving Earth, I didn't know what to think. I mean, I had been looking up at the stars since I was a baby. They were beautiful--and so far away. It wasn't until a few years later that I began to wonder what they truly looked like.

You know, not the NASA-approved photos on those posters of clouds and sunsets where you can barely make out the stars. Those were just fancy little paintings that were as fake as my designer shoes (which I got for free). No, what I wanted to see were the real, honest-to-God stars. The ones you could only get by going out into the middle of nowhere, laying down on your back, and staring up into space with nothing but your own eyes. You know... nature.

I grew up in London, which really isn't the best place for stargazing, but it was all I ever knew. As a kid you don't dwell on things like that; you assume that everyone has their own problems and whatnot (a lesson I learned way too late in life). So for me, being able to see stars was always a luxury. A privilege reserved for those who lived outside of cities or in places where there wasn't a constant light pollution from street lamp and neon signs and whatever else mankind uses to illuminate their nights.

I never owned a telescope; my parents couldn't afford one, and even if they could have afforded one I would have been too busy smoking weed and watching bad movies when I was younger to ever use it anyway. So whenever I wanted to see the stars, I would have to trek out into the countryside with a couple of friends or my love interest of the month (or week--I'm not picky) and look up at them through our own eyes like cavemen.

One day we decided to go up to some random field somewhere north of London (we got lost). We'd driven there in my dad's BMW convertible and smoked enough weed that we probably should have died behind the wheel (again: not picky). The field was big--like football-field big--with grass that went up above my waist everywhere except for one corner where there was a big wooded area with nothing but tree trunks reaching out of the ground like giant fingers reaching towards the heavens (see what I did there?). We parked near this corner of trees and walked over to a grassy spot where we could lie down and stare at whatever we pleased until we passed out from exhaustion or got eaten by wolves or whatever happened to people who fell asleep in fields with no tents (you'll probably be surprised as well to learn that none of us really thought about that). My girlfriend at the time sat down next to me and started making out with me before she turned around so she could straddle me while she undid her bra without breaking contact between our lips (she was good; she won Miss Teen Alabama USA back in 2007). Meanwhile, my friend Adam decided he wanted to take off his pants so he could feel the grass tickling his privates (he's always been weird; didn't get along with anyone in high school).

It got dark pretty quickly once we stopped talking loudly. The girl on top of me suddenly stopped moving when she realized something wasn't right. She lifted her head off mine (her hair smelled nice) and asked me if something was wrong.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

I closed my eyes again so I could listen harder. Something wasn't right... but what? The silence felt like an ocean; it surrounded us on every side with only its stillness for company. And then it hit me: there weren't any crickets chirping! There weren't any frogs croaking! There weren't any birds tweeting! The noises of nature were gone!

"There aren't any bugs making noise," I said calmly, as if this realization hadn't just shattered my entire world. My girlfriend looked worried, clearly unnerved by the lack of nature's background noise.

I stared up at the sky and realized why everything had gone silent: the stars were barely visible! Stars were supposed to be bright--like fireflies blinking against the night sky--but now they were just tiny dots struggling to be seen through the darkness! Clouds gathered overhead quickly, and we knew that we were in for some bad weather. Raindrops fell upon our hands and faces as the first clap of thunder rang out.

And then the surprise came: it began to snow. This was not a common occurrence near London, especially considering it was springtime.

The girl screamed as snowflakes landed on her exposed skin. Trees began swaying violently from the strong wind, and dark clouds loomed above us. The weather had turned treacherous in an instant, as if someone had flipped a switch. Our bodies shivered uncontrollably as the snow rapidly covered the grassy field.

My heart pounded heavily

in my chest as the snow intensified. We scrambled to our feet, the urgency and the cold gripping us simultaneously. Panic set in as we realized we were completely unprepared for this sudden storm.

"Get to the car!" I yelled over the howling wind, my voice barely audible. We stumbled towards the BMW, slipping and sliding on the icy ground. The snowfall grew more intense with each passing second, clouding our vision as the world turned white.

Finally, we reached the car, our bodies soaked and freezing. I fumbled for the keys in my pocket, my fingers numb from the cold. As I managed to unlock the car, we piled inside, shivering uncontrollably.

The sound of the storm echoed inside the vehicle, and we huddled together for warmth. Our breath formed misty clouds, mixing with the tension and fear in the air. I turned on the engine, praying that it would start, and let out a sigh of relief as the car roared to life.

"We need to find shelter," I said, barely above a whisper.

The windshield wipers worked in frantic desperation to clear away the accumulating snow. Visibility was nearly nonexistent, but we pressed forward, desperate to escape the relentless storm.

There were no buildings or houses nearby, and the road stretched ahead, seemingly endless. Panic gripped my heart, the fear of being trapped in this hostile environment threatening to overwhelm me.

Then, in the midst of the whiteout, a dim light appeared in the distance. Hope ignited within me, shining a beacon through the storm. I accelerated towards it, praying that it would lead us to shelter.

As we drew closer, the shape of a small cabin emerged from the blizzard. It stood against the elements, defiant and resilient. I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding, relief flooding through me.

The car skidded to a halt outside the cabin, and we stumbled out, tripping through the snowdrifts. We hurriedly approached the wooden structure, with each step feeling like an eternity.

I reached for the door, fighting against the biting cold that threatened to freeze my fingers. It creaked open, revealing a warm, cozy interior bathed in the soft glow of a crackling fireplace. It was as if the cabin had been waiting for us, providing refuge from the storm.

We entered, shedding our wet clothes and huddling around the fire to thaw our chilled bodies. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the walls and providing a sense of comfort in the midst of the chaos that raged outside.

As we sat there, wrapped in blankets, the storm raged on, battering against the windows and door. We watched in awe as nature unleashed its fury, reminding us of its power and unpredictability.

But amidst the chaos, a profound calm settled within me. In this moment of unexpected solitude, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the presence of my companions, I felt a connection to something greater than myself. The stars, hidden behind the storm, were a reminder of the vastness of the universe and the infinitesimal nature of our lives.

Hours passed, and the storm eventually subsided, leaving behind a pristine blanket of snow. We ventured outside, greeted by a transformed landscape, where the familiar was disguised under a layer of white. The sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting a golden glow over the winter wonderland.

Our journey back to London was filled with awe and introspection. The profound experience in the cabin had shifted something within us, igniting a yearning for exploration and a deeper connection with nature.

From then on, I made it my mission to seek out the stars, not just as distant specks in the sky, but as friends and guides. I yearned for a genuine connection with the universe, to understand our place within it.

And so, I set out on a journey of discovery. I traveled to remote corners of the world, where human-made lights were scarce, and the night sky unfolded in all its glory. With a telescope by my side, I explored the beauty of the cosmos, capturing photographs and experiencing a sense of wonder that never ceased to amaze me.

But it was in those quiet moments, lying on my back under the open sky, with nothing but my own eyes to witness the vastness above, that I truly felt a connection to the stars. In their twinkling light, I found solace, inspiration, and a reminder of the boundless possibilities that awaited us beyond the horizon.

And as I gazed up at the stars, I couldn't help but wonder: perhaps one day, we would venture beyond Earth, not just in our dreams, but in the boldness of our actions. Humanity would reach for the stars, carrying with us the curiosity, resilience, and awe that defined our existence.

For now, though, I would revel in the beauty of the night sky, embracing the unknown that shimmered within each star, and cherishing the journey of discovery that had begun with a simple desire to see the stars with my own eyes.