posted on Aug, 25 2005 @ 02:40 PM
This is a story based on an actual lucid dream I had some while ago. For those who don't know, a lucid dream is a dream in which you are aware that
you are dreaming. In my lucid dreams, I am able to control almost every aspect of my dreams. It's like being omnipotent and omniscient, but in a very
wierd way. This story tries to deal with the impact of that divinity on the inhabitants of my dream worlds. I hope you like it. Please feel free (i.e.
please do) leave feedback and let me know what you thought.
It’s strange to watch the reaction of somebody who has just had the comforting shroud of reality brutally and callously torn away from them. It’s
never quite what you expect. Case in point: the young woman who stood before me in the middle of a busy inner-city street, in the middle of the
pouring rain, soaked to the bone and struggling to process the fact that her world and everything on it had come into being little more than fifteen
minutes ago. She was handling it rather well, I thought.
She gazed about herself absent-mindedly, her eyes drifting lazily over the scrambling throngs of pedestrians who cursed and struggled to stay dry,
darting from overhang to overhang and huddling against the sides of buildings as they waited for the traffic lights to change colour. She looked up
and closed her eyes against the raindrops that spattered her face. The sky was an endless, unbroken canopy of soft grey, the kind of sky that always
threatens to stay that way and deny the Earth the warming rays of the sun forever. She remained like that for a short while, the rain pooling in the
hollows of her closed eyes, and then she lowered her face to watch the dance of the raindrops against the bitumen as they gathered and pooled and ran
in small rivulets into the gutters. Finally she brought herself to look at me and I could see, through the rain, the streaks of the tears as they
spilled down her cheeks.
“This is all a dream”, she said, with a resoluteness that warmed me even as her newly-discovered loneliness stabbed through me like a dagger of
“Yes”, I replied softly. “This is my dream”.
She said nothing, but bent down and ran her fingers through the swiftly moving stream of rainwater that ran through the gutter. She looked across the
street to where a mother was struggling with an upturned umbrella while her young daughter laughed and stamped with glee.
“Last year”, she said idly, her fingers swimming in the tiny river, “my husband was killed when a driver talking on their cell phone didn’t
notice a stop sign. He was a good man, a good father and a good husband. Why did he have to die?”
“I don’t know”, I answered truthfully, although I knew that she would not understand.
Standing up, she shook the drops from her fingers and put her hands in the deep pockets of her coat. Her hands shook and I wanted desperately to
believe that it was from the cold.
“When you wake up, what happens to all of us?”
“I don’t know”.
She stared at me blankly. Her eyes were bloodshot, but focused and alert and I knew from her quizzical expression that she did not understand.
“Take the rain”, I said, in an effort to offer her realisation through analogy. “It rains because I enjoy the rain. I find it soothing yet
invigorating. I feel as though the world has more potential somehow when it is raining. Today I willed for it to rain and it did. But I do not chart
the course of each raindrop. I will the tapestry into being, but I do not work each stitch”.
Even as I saw her begin to grasp my crude yet honest comparison, I saw the inevitable mask of outrage work its way onto her features. Ignoring that
for a moment, I continued my lesson.
“In the same way that I created the rain, I created your universe. I willed there to be a world filled with life and people and beauty and grandeur
and it was so. But I did not will you specifically into being, nor your husband, nor your son”.
For a moment when I said this, I thought that she might hit me. Her rage burned within her and she wrestled with it, even as she struggled to
reconcile the truth of what I had told her. She emerged the victor in both battles and once again regarded me almost languidly, a smile creeping at
the edge of her lips.
“He wants to be an astronaut”, she said fondly.
“I know”, I replied.
“You do?” she asked, puzzled. “But I thought you just said that you …”
“When I concentrate on the details”, I interrupted, “I can know things. About people – their names, their histories, their hopes and desires
and secrets. I don’t know exactly how it works. I almost think that I’m just making most of it up as I go along”.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with sleeves that were comically oversized for her small frame. In a flash, I knew that the coat had belonged to her
husband, though how I knew this I could not say.
“When you wake up, back in … I don’t know … the real world, I guess, we – all of us, all of this, ceases to exist, doesn’t it?”
I was silent for a moment. Part of me was considering constructing some lie, some deception that would give her hope, give her meaning and purpose.
But another part of me decided that she had earned the truth, or what I, in my own understanding, held to be the truth. It was this part of me that
“I honestly don’t know”, I said. “Probably”.
“But maybe you could … try?” she said, the first tinge of desperation apparent in her voice. “When you wake up maybe you could remember us and
… and maybe we wouldn’t … maybe everything wouldn’t have to …”
Across the street, a driver had begun beeping his horn incessantly, cursing and making decidedly unfriendly gestures to the driver in front of him who
sat talking on his cell phone. It was a moment before I realised that the sound was distracting me from her heartfelt and increasingly feverish
“Please. Please, you have to try. Not for myself, I don’t care what happens to me. But … son, he … future … deserves to …”
Her voice had become increasingly difficult to follow as the horn grew in intensity. I again let myself become distracted as I prepared to will the
noise into silent obedience. Dimly, as if she were speaking from somewhere very far away, I heard her crying. The horn redoubled in volume, until the
sound of it seemed to fill all the world.
“… wants to be an astronaut”.
The alarm woke me with an unusual sluggishness, as though I were but grudgingly returning to conscious thought. Beside me, my girlfriend began to
stir. Morning light poked through the closed blinds, still weak, yet bright enough to cause me to have to squint against it.
“Mmmm, good morning”, my girlfriend said as she rolled over.
“Good morning, sweetheart”, I replied, unwilling yet to throw back the blankets and begin my day.
“How did you sleep?”
“I … I don’t know. I had this weird dream”.
“Oh yeah? What was it about?”
“There was this … woman”.
“Oh, it was one of those dreams”, she said playfully.
“No”, I said smiling back at her. “She wanted … I don’t know. She was scared and she wanted me to do something”.
“What did she want you to do?” asked my girlfriend as she moved her hands around on the carpeted floor searching for her slippers.
“She wanted …” I struggled to remember what the woman in my dream had wanted of me. It was something important, something that had meant
everything to her. But I couldn’t remember, and the more I tried the more the memory slipped from me. It was like trying to put my finger on a bead
“Oh well”, I said at last. “I guess it couldn’t have been too important”.
Throwing back the covers, I struggled to open my eyes against the morning sun. For a brief moment I thought that it should have been raining, but
dismissed the strange thought as I prepared to face the day.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.