Ben C. O. Grimm

I caught the dream red-handed. I was so amazed by this sudden victory that all I could do was just sit there in the dark, the sheets up to my waist, the warm vibrant object resting in my lap. It was a trusted feeling, like a cat cuddling up to you to wish you a peaceful night. You can stroke it, and it will purr, while its warmth will become a familiar addendum to your presence. I thought about turning on the light, but it felt better to leave it off for just a little while longer. Safer in a way. I had been preparing for this catch for years on end. I had seen its wagging tail right in front of me several times, but it had managed to escape me time and time again. At times I had been so hopeless that to give up the whole idea seemed like the easy way out. But the dream did not cooperate. It came right back to me, and it managed to break through the heavy velvet screens of morfine and valium. I ignored it for while, waiting for it to lose interest and leave my life with an air of unconstrained aloofness. But it seemed determined to play cat and mouse with me, to jump on top of me in those moments of sleepy defencelessness. I don't know how I managed to wake up and remain perfectly still, while the dream hovered above my chest, waiting for the right moment to run the tape and carefully study my eyeballs, moving rapidly under the lids. I opened my eyes, while my breath continued its steady, deep pace. The moment I managed to fix my stare on the dream I knew I had won. Like the lobster in the chalked circle, it moved to and fro, but my eyes kept following its movements. Finally, it settled down, resigned. I raised my hands and closed in on the dream, gently. I didn't mean to hurt it or crush it. The soft warmth surprised me, just like the smooth and flexible surface. I held it up, arranged the pillows behind my back, and put the dream in my lap. Somehow, I knew I could let go. It wouldn't try to escape. I didn't even need to stare at it. It must have known that I didn't mean to hurt it. It wasn't a bad dream. Mysterious at times, slightly disturbing at most, but never threatening or nightmarish. A trusted companion, a regular visitor that never spoke to you. Just there. I wasn't sure how it would react to light. I had never had the dream in the daytime, nodding off in the afternoon sun. I thought about vampires and bats. Would the dream dissolve in the first rays of the morning sun and try to find refuge in unknown regions of darkness? But I desperately wanted to see the dream in full splendor. I moved my hand toward the light switch. Very slowly. A dim light. The dream didn't move or show any signs of distress. I was surprised by the faint purple color and the beautiful structure of the somewhat opaque surface. I cupped my hands around it and held it up to the light. No structure inside the dream, just the slightest hint of the light behind it. The weight was negligible. Now what? Should I try to communicate with it? Moot point, I guess. The dream had never communicated with me. It had just been there, conjuring up images and creating a surreal and unusual atmosphere. I had never gotten used to it. But influencing it had been out of the question. So it probably wasn't susceptible to any input. It didn't react to my squeezing. It changed its shape to accomodate the pressure, but that was all. I stayed in bed all day. A change of scene or location might disrupt this serene togetherness. But still, after a few hours, I saw the color fade away. The smooth surface became dry and rough. The vibrations died out and the temperature dropped, albeit ever so slowly. I didn't know what to do. Go back to sleep and try to revive it? I don't think it would have helped. The process seemed irreversible. A sense of loss. Would the death of this dream spawn new and unknown dreams or even nightmares? Or worse, would I go without dreams from now on? It just didn't feel right. The dream slowly turned to grey dust and dissolved in the room's atmosphere. I had caught and inadvertently killed it. And what I feared most has actually happened. Now I sleep without dreams, and I wake up in a stolid nightmare. A disillusioned man with no path to glory, barren tracks behind him. I have seen the unimaginable, and it has seen me. I have nothing but useless, empty time. No purpose in life. No fear of dying. Not even that.

© Ben C. O. Grimm