I've entered that state now. I'm aware that I'm in a dream. But I have control and can do whatever I want.
Chapter 10 - Everything I Love Is Gone
The desiccated bones of a dead bird are lying in a small heap on the desert ground. There are a few dusty black feathers that have not yet been blown away by the wind, entangled in the bones. They make me think that the skeleton I've been staring at once belonged to a Crow. I have a feeling the bird has been dead for a long, long time, but places like this have a way of destroying things quickly, so maybe the corpse has been here only for a few days, or even only a few hours.
As I'm considering this the wind picks up. The howling across the expanse dislodges some of the feathers from the resting place. They are carried off into the void. Soon there will be nothing left, for as the driving wind continues to whisk away the feathers, so too will the shifting sand swallow the skeleton. For that, I'm sorry because there's this strange sensation, like the crow and I have something in common. It may be that we're both lost and doomed to be forgotten, but I know there's more to it than that.
While I stare into the empty eye sockets I realize why people are really scared of death. It's not because they don't know what happens next. The real question is: if we have immortal souls, why don't we remember anything that came before we're born? Since living things have no recollection of a before, the odds that we will have a recollection of an after aren't in our favor. Existence is over in the blink of an eye, and when it's gone, it may be gone for good. But what if this crow did have a soul, does it even know it was ever here? It probably doesn't which seems to make perfect sense and no sense at the same time.
In the open, the sun's burning light is intensified. I can't stand here forever, but I've not found the strength to move on yet. I don't know if I can. My mouth is parched and I feel as if I may die of thirst at any moment. And yet I have an odd, irresistible urge to spit. So I do. What little liquid I muster is quickly sucked up by the dry earth, leaving only a small, damp outline where the drop landed. My outlook changes slightly at the sight. Maybe I'm too pessimistic. Maybe there's something that came before life and remains after death: an outline; though; feeling.
Something.
Maybe all that's left is a memory that there was a memory.
A memory that there was a memory. A memory that there was a memory. The line becomes stuck on repeat in my head as I scan the cloudless sky, wondering which way I need to go. A revelation should be coming, but it doesn't.
A memory that there was a memory? I'm staring at the crow again. I look away and see the outline of my life has fully dried now. Somehow that helps to push the thought from my mind.
I need to walk. I was headed somewhere but I can't recall the name or place. I can't even remember which way I was going when I stopped for the crow.
I slowly scan my surroundings. There's nothing. Only the repeating pattern of a vast stretch of cracked, dry clay. Because it's all the same, and I know it's likely I'll die of either starvation or desperation, I pick a direction at random.
One foot in front of the other, I begin my march to the horizon.
Desert, desert, and more desert. I walk for longer than I think possible, and then the desert is gone and I'm in a town. I don't remember seeing the town, I don't remember walking into the town, I'm just here, and I know this is the place I need to be.
Although there aren't any signs of ghosts, the town has a haunted air. There isn't much left. Most of the structures are either burned-out shells, or the walls have crumbled from old age. One by one, I explore the buildings that appear safe enough to enter. I even venture into a few that seem like the slightest breeze will cause them to collapse. Still not a single sign of life. This place is a remnant of a time forgotten.
There's an eeriness that's nearly as suffocating as smoke. I want to leave. I would rather be back in the desert than spend one more minute in this dilapidated town, but I keep looking because I have to. When I get to the center of town, there's a beautiful young woman there. But something is wrong. The girl is lying on the ground, spread eagle, and naked.
Cautiously, I approach. My mind screams that it is a trap.
She hasn't seen me yet, so I take the time to study her. She has gorgeous flowing black hair, and it's in stark contrast to her perfect pale white skin. Tears run down her cheeks. She doesn't move and then I notice that her arms, legs, and neck have thick, rusty shackles around them. The shackles are attached by a short length of chain to steel posts that have been driven into the ground.
No sign of other people, so I move closer. The woman senses my presence, or hears the dirt cracking beneath my boots and her slowly head turns towards my direction and she looks me directly in the eyes.
Even though she's crying, it isn't fear or pain. I see pleasure.
Without warning, my soul lights on fire. As her eyes are lock on mine, holding me captive, I feel my thoughts are being probed. Our minds meld into one another. She speaks to me without speaking. When I reply, my lips aren't moving. The conversation happens in a split second, and yet it seems we have been together for an eternity. Everything is shared and known, but I can only comprehend and translate a few tatters of meaning:
You are alone,' she says.
We are all alone.
'Free me. We can be together.'
Why did the town leave you?
'Everything I love is dead.'
I don't understand.
'Everything I love is dead.'
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
'Free me.'
I want to know what happened here.
She transmits the feeling that she has been waiting for me for longer than anyone living could understand. Memory flashes in my mind. Eons ago, when this nameless town had a name, evil spiteful people chained an innocent girl because of illogical and outdated beliefs. "Witch," they cried. "Witch!" Believing the town had been cursed by the girl, they abandoned it, leaving it to rot in the sun, and they left her to rot along with it.
'Now you know. Free me.'
I grab the stake holding down her right leg and I pry it out of the ground. As her leg is freed, there's an almost imperceptible change in her expression; so very beautiful but somehow less innocent.
An ominous look in her glimmering eyes makes me question if perhaps she isn't a victim at all. But the girl banishes the thought from my mind. Those who did this are the guilty. Of course they are. She is the one hurting. I've been sent to free her.
I pull the second stake, freeing her left leg, and she changes again. Her shiny black hair fades to a dull gray color which matches the petrified wood of the town. Her smooth, porcelain skin becomes worn leather. And yet she continues to change, transforming into disgusting decay on decay.
Witch! I know the truth. Witch! I know I have been deceived.
'Free me.'
It it's a demand. I fight to resist, but her power over me is too strong. I pull the third stake from the ground, freeing her left hand. The thing continues to change.
What are you?
'I am Romans.'
This can't be.
'I am Romans for I am alone.'
Mother of lies!
'Free me.'
Please, no!
It smiles, if Cruelly curling bleeding lips over rotting, sharp, yellowed broken teeth, can be called a smile.
It says nothing else to me. It doesn't need to. I've done enough. It reaches over and pulls out the stake holding down its right hand. It changes again into a dark and shapeless void. The dead crow flashes in my mind.
It rips off the neck collar. With the last bind broken the true form is now revealed as pure evil that can't be witnessed directly.
It rushes at me, screaming.
With the spell broken, I run. It is close behind. Its breath at my back. I hear it gaining and push myself to go faster, and faster still. Just when I think there may be hope…
Sudden Darkness.
Meaningless Darkness.
Eternal Darkness.
I feel like there's this important memory I once had. I don't know why but I stop walking. I see the desiccated bones of a dead bird lying in a small heap on the desert ground. There are a few dusty black feathers that have not yet been blown away by the wind, entangled in the bones. They make me think that the skeleton I've been staring at once belonged to a crow.
Chapter 11 - Embrace The Dream
When you're lucid, you're dreaming, you know it, and you can control the outcome. In these dreams I can do almost anything. For most people, the first thing they like to do when they become lucid is fly. Not me though, I want to find a weapon.
A kitchen is as good a place as any to look for something to defend myself. Being lucid doesn't mean it's going to be smooth sailing. Because I'm prone to such severe nightmares, this cozy looking cottage could, and probably will, turn into a burnt out clown house of horror. If it does, I should be as prepared as possible.
In the kitchen I consider my options: Frying pans, glass bottles, fruit. I consider trying my luck at making an object appear. I would like a gun, but I'm afraid that if I try to force an outcome I might end up with something I don't want at all. A wooden knife block on the counter catches my eye. I decide to go with the large butcher's knife. It feels nice and heavy in my hand.
I am curious why my mind has brought me here so I leave the kitchen and look around. As I'm exploring, I pass pictures on the walls of people whom I have never seen before. Nothing is familiar at all, which makes it difficult to analyze the symbolism of the dream.
So far, things are going well. I have not yet been attacked by any creatures. The ceiling has not burst into flames. The carpet has not turned to glue. The walls have not begun to cave in. It's nice considering how badly the last few lucid dreams turned out.
Perhaps the medication the Doc gave me is working?
Nothing on the first floor seems to be of any importance, so I think about having a quick flight after all. I'm lucid so I might as well enjoy myself. I head towards the front door but stop when I suddenly see a strange-looking pale glow coming from the upstairs hallway.
I hesitate. Outside, or upstairs?
I really, really should go outside, move away from this potential danger. It's the better choice, safer. But what if there's something important upstairs?
I knew this would happen. This is how it always happens.
Walking up the steps, looking for the source of the light, I keep trying to change my mind. I know going up there is a bad idea. At the top of the staircase, one of the bedroom doors is slightly ajar. A soft, dancing white light is being projected onto the hallway floor.
The choice already made for me. I can't turn back. Slowly, I push the door the rest of the way open because if I make any noise, the Devil will rain Hell down upon me.
The light is coming from an old television set. Only static is on the screen, the white and black nothingness that is found on channels where a signal doesn't exist.
The room is dead silent. Either the television volume is turned all the way down, or it doesn't work. But to me it feels less like regular silence and more like I'm in the vacuum of space where the concept of sound is but a myth.
Scanning the room, everything feels smaller. On the bed there's a shape of a person. Only it's not a person at all. Defensively, I hold up the knife. I expect the thing to jump up and attack me.
But nothing happens.
The thing in the bed doesn't move, and neither do I. The thing is waiting for me to make a mistake. It wants me to walk closer, the same way that the Big Bad Wolf wanted Little Red Riding Hood to come closer. The thing has deep red, glowing eyes, just like a wolf. Those eyes are partly hidden by strands of tangled blonde hair which hang over most of its face, masking its most hideous features. The thing's slow breathing sounds like a low, persistent growl.
The thing is being still. So, so, still.
An almost uncontrollable urge to run hits me. I want to get far away from the thing, but I know that if I do run, it will jump up and catch me by my neck. The thing would rip out my spine and tear the rest of me apart, piece by bloody piece. So I don't run. I stand and watch it very closely, ready to use the knife.
I'm so goddamn tired of being chased down, torn apart, eaten, burned, buried and a thousand other bad things that I would rather not describe. Why must every dream I have devolve into this? I'm stuck between all the horrible things that have happened and all the horrible things that will happen if I can't find a cure. I'm angry because I hate waiting for the inevitable pain. If the thing is going to hurt me, it needs to happen soon. The anticipation is too much to bear.
Hope isn't completely lost. I'm lucid so I have more than just the basic emotions that often play a role in how a nightmare ends. In this state I can make a choice. I can use logic. I can find a way to run, or can find a way to fight back. Maybe even win.
Fuck this. Pushing the anger aside, I choose to fight. With newfound determination I gain the courage to approach the thing. I mentally command it not to move. Each step seems to take longer and longer as if the distance between the thing and I is growing. But I continue on, managing to inch my way over to the bed.
I lean down and stare directly into the evil red eyes.
"Tonight, you don't win," I whisper.
The thing stirs, but just a little, as if it's only partly aware that I've invaded its lair. This is the first time I've ever dreamed of a sleeping monster before, so maybe that is a good sign. Maybe I do have this under control thanks to the pills.
Once more, I telepathically transmit the order not to move. The thing seems to listens. I consider studying the features of my adversary, curious of what has been pulled up from the darkest depths of my imagination. But any further hesitation on my part will make this nightmare worse. I choose to end this here and now.
I close my eyes and plunge the knife down to its hilt.
The thing's body twitches but soon stops.
"Tonight I win."
Chapter 12 - Winding Down
"I'm not sure what I am," I say to the man sitting across from me at the diner, "but I have a theory."
The man, unsure of whom I'm talking to, tries to ignore me.
The only way to express my theory is to dive into quantum physics. I explain that an electron not being observed doesn't exist as a particle at all. Only by observation does it take on those qualities.
I take a sip of coffee and then say, "I'm a personification of that idea. When I'm not interacting with you, you aren't existing. I'm an Observer. Nothing, and I mean nothing at all, happens unless I see it happen."
The man looks at me like I'm insane.
I shrug and stand up to excuses myself.
"Well, it's just a theory," I say in parting.
My eyes move away from him. In my peripheral vision, I see the man slump forward in his chair. As I scan the rest of the diner, other people pop to life as I momentarily gaze upon them, only to slump back down when I turn away. The effect is like a puppeteer picking up the manipulator of a marionette doll and then laying it back down.
Walking out of the diner, the dead silence bursts back to the sounds of a busy city street. Everything picks up exactly where I had left it. Cars are moving, birds are flying, the crowds of people who were standing limp, are now going on about their lives. They don't know that for the entire time I was enjoying my coffee they had ceased to exist.
I'm not sure why people have the marionette effect while everything else simply stops. A group of birds will freeze in the sky if I don't look directly at them. Cars that are going 60 miles per hour will come to an instant halt if I turn away. Only people act as if they have lost something without my observation. It might be because of the human spirit, but that is only a guess.
In the distance, the green glow of the tower on the edge of town shines bright. It looms over the city, standing more than five times the height of any other building. It is very difficult to describe the feelings it evo
kes. Every time I see it from this distance, I'm reminded of the majestic Emerald City beyond the field of flowers. It's an amazing sight. But I'm the only one who notices that it exists.
On the highest floor of the highest spire there is a circular room. The walls are made of glass. I spend most of my time there. Every part of this city is within view. The whole city is able to live while I watch from that room.
Every time I blink the world dies. Sometimes I wish I could be one of the observed. That can never happen so I sit in a chair and watch out a window, letting people live a life where they never know that I'm the only thing binding them to existence.
I hear a knock on the door directly behind me and I scream out in sudden terror. I think I've lost my mind. The concept of a noise coming from behind is completely alien and impossible. The knock comes again. I turn to face the insanity, hoping nothing will be there.
A frail man stands in the doorway, his expression sad and quizzical. I don't want him to be real so I turn back to the window, giving life once again to the city below.
The man speaks. Not possible, I keep telling myself. He says, "Life is grand until the world crumbled behind you."
As I watch the city, he claims to be a Watcher of Watchers. Without him, he tells me, I don't exist. I don't want to believe him but he keeps disappearing from one spot and reappearing in another. This is how I must appear to the people in the city, I realize.
I ask him why he has came to visit me.
He says that a Watcher of Watchers served from the highest mountain in my province, and it was his job to look over all of his Observers.
"Others?" I ask.
With a single nod, this Watcher of Watchers confirmed my suspicion that there are others like me. I'm relieved I'm not alone.
Looking out the window, I see the mountain of my Watcher of Watchers. One could see a thousand miles in any direction from there. I imagine he is in a tower even grander than mine.
I ask why I'm being told all of this.