A Midsummer Night’s Dream

 I walk the night, with no one knowing who—or what—I am. This is the way it should be.

See that man over there? He dreams nightly of escape. Of leaving his wife and two children to the whims of Fate and just leaving to strike off on a new, bold adventure. More fool he, then. Tonight he shall dream from the ivory again, of a nymph that beckons. He is not long for this place.

Her? Her dreams are scarcely worth mentioning. What she wishes in her heart of hearts is no more than to be left alone; she is the only company she desires. A tortured childhood suffered long ago marked her. Dreams from the Horn are all that she knows—any more and she may be driven mad.

A beautiful city is this. Ripe with neuroses that come to the fore while their owners are asleep. I have made it my home, as much as anyplace can be my home. Their dreams are my nectar, my reason for being. And they are sweet, so sweet.

Ah, there he is. The Doctor. He is a favorite of mine. Look closely, see his eyes? How they flicker from person to person, sizing up one and then the next? The Doctor is not one to be trifled with. His dreams are disturbing, even to myself. Wishing to find out what makes one tick—autopsies are not enough for him, he dreams nightly of dissecting a living human being. Such actions would anger the Gods. But the Gods are no more, are they?

 Zeus’ Thunderbolt did not serve him when confronted by a peace-loving shepherd from Jerusalem. The Twelve, and most of the others fell. But I remain. As do some others. Narcissus is exceptionally strong.

 See her? How she walks, keeping herself apart from the rest of her fellow travelers? Her dreams would make Aphrodite herself blush with shame. If you could see her eyes beyond her glass wall, you would notice her looking at every man on the street, for “viewing” later.  She lives alone, with two cats—if that means anything.

And he! Oh, the stories I could tell of his nocturnal journeys! He is the male counterpart of the last. His dreams would teach Zeus himself a lesson in amorousness.

 Perhaps those two will dream of each other from this night forward. That would be interesting, to see what they do when their slideshow is stopped for one frame, perpetual.

Those that sleep fall within my view, every night. E’en now, there is a part of me that sends forth the Dream to those that are sleeping. Nightmares beyond comprehension that leave the dreamers quivering in fear and drenched in their own sweat. Dreams of joy that turn the dreamer outward, seeking to tell others—not a few religions get started in that manner. Prophetic dreams, giving someone the ability to see into their own future. All fall into my domain.

There was once when I was worshipped openly. The Lord of Dreams was my title, and deservedly so. There were few that were immune to my wiles—or to my terrors. Sadly, it was those few that kept me from their councils. A pity that I have outlasted them, isn’t it?

The minds of all are open to me. The subconscious is my playground, the small thoughts that one does not acknowledge during wakeful moments.

That man there, he shall dream of unseen terrors this night. Why? Because I will it. He may wake drenched in his sweat, begging for release. Or he may not wake at all. That, I leave to Fate. Atropos knows when to cut her threads. I merely give what is wanted.

Here, let us sit for a moment and watch the people walk. It is amusing, knowing what goes on in their heads. Watch that little girl there, in the red dress. See how she looks about her in wonder? She dreams nightly of concepts that should destroy any mortal mind. She shall bring wonders the likes of which have never been seen before. If she survives. Many do not.

Dreams are the soul, speaking to the conscious mind, and I am the Lord of Dreams. Draw your own conclusions from there. I read texts about the Times of the Twelve, and scoff. So much is distorted through Time. Memory fades; and true tales become legends become myths. So much remains unknown—except by the likes of me.
Narcissus—I believe I mentioned him earlier, the vain fool—even he is not untouched by the passage of time. I believe he is in the city-state of Los Angeles now. He may have a new cult following him, but only I remain as I was. Only I keep Thought and Memory close.

Too much is romanticized, about the Twelve. They were fools, like all those before, and like all that have followed after. A mere Lord of Dreams means nothing to them, never could one such as I be useful. No, the forgotten waste of obscurity is not the place for such as I. ‘Beware,’ said I. ‘There are things that—although you dismiss as mere dreams—have more power than any Thunderbolt.’ Note well, mortal, who is speaking to you now, and who only exists in the pages of poorly-copied tales. A dream given to a few holy men in a desert, and all is changed. I feed nightly, and those that dared to laugh are gone, mere whispers in the wind.

Every night, dreams fill the minds of every living thing on this planet. From the newborn, dreaming of the comfort of the womb, to the aged, dreaming of the comfort of the tomb. All that I grant, and more. Dreams of escape for her, Dreams of love for him, Dreams of death for that one.  All they wish, I give. Their true desires are granted, through the few hours that they lie within my sphere of influence.

Remember what I say now, mortal. Whenever you sleep, you are in my hands. Within my domain, I reign supreme. Your wishes come to life, for better or worse.  There is nothing that I do not know about anyone living or dead.  I have existed since the dawn of humanity, and I shall exist as long as there are those that dream. I outlasted the brazen Olympians, though they shunned me from their councils.

I am Morpheus, and still I am here.
 
 
 

©1998, Cameron Wm. Akers