The Dreamweaver (Test story)

Life had been so much simpler when Jericho had been awake, and now it was a jumbled muddled mess created by unconscious neural connections. At least that was what he had thought before he met the dragon, and the women who created dreams. But that came much later. No, the night when all the madness began was perfectly plain in every way possible. Jericho had just finished watching an extremely tasteless pornographic film on his television and was presently fixing himself a nightcap composed of two parts vodka and one part Gatorade. The mixture had barely touched his lips when a splitting pain surged through his head. He dropped the glass and clutched his head in a frenzy. The disembodied pieces of the vessel split as they hit the floor and a large piece ran across the length of Jericho's exposed chest.1

The wound itself was not deep but this, oddly enough is where the story truly begins. For it was from that simple splitting pain and the laceration that followed that the world of dreams was discovered. But once again I'm getting ahead of myself and there are so many details left to pen. Upon seeing the cut Jericho panicked in the usual fashion that most people do when they find that there is a giant gash where undisturbed flesh used to dwell. The panic forced Jericho into the cramped confines of his washroom where he foolishly decided to dig out the small pieces of glass with a pocket knife and a spoon. The wound bled and the glass went deeper, and he ended his efforts an hour later. Needless to say he was no better off then when he had begun.2

“Aw man, I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die!” Jericho continued to utter the aforementioned phrase like a psychotic mantra of sorts. Finally the effect of partially digested alcohol and blood loss forced our hero to shamelessly fall asleep in the bathroom with his head in the toilet. And from that “blissful” slumber came the dream that would change Jericho's life forever. 3

He opened his eyes to a foreboding and unfamiliar place. There were however two facts that he had unshakable faith in. The first was that the place in which he now lay was definitely not his loft nor the bathroom that was in the loft. The second was that if this was indeed a dream that his chest hurt here as well. Pulling himself to his feet Jericho observed his surroundings. His observations were few, simple, and short. He appeared to be near a reflection pond of some kind surrounded by a forest of cherry blossoms, and a wall that rose higher than the eye could perceive. Another quick observation told him that he was still attired in his boxers, with naught a stitch else to cover his body. Modesty however, was the least of his worries at this point as he realized that he was not alone. Sitting beside the pool, draped in a fine silk gown, and slowly weaving strands of thread on a loom, sat a girl.4

“Don't bother being embarrassed boy, I've seen much worse in the minds of others. Right now you need to concern yourself with my problems, as they are more pivotal to the world at large.” Jericho of course had no idea what the girl was talking about; the dumb look that crossed his face must have given away his blissful ignorance, as the girl quickly spoke up, slightly more irritated this time. “I see that once again I have asked for a hero and have received a baboon in his place. Take no offense; I wish I could say that it was the first time this has happened. Those that beg can not always afford to be picky in their heroes, and I suppose that this will be the case with you. Very well we have much work to do and not much time to do it in.” 5

Jericho tried to respond but was cut off. It seemed now, like in most dreams that he could not say what he wanted to say, or do as he wanted to do. “This will be easier to ingest if you don't speak. The first thing we have to address is the existence of your dream chain. You will wake up shortly, and I do so wish to see you again. The next time you fall asleep it will be longer and it will continue to grow longer every time you sleep. On the night of the full moon you will enter a sleep from which you can not wake. On that night you must find me again, for if you do not both our worlds will be doomed.” The world suddenly began to ripple and fade away and Jericho could no longer perceive it clearly. Before the horizon was completely lost he managed to make out a few more words. “And put some clothes on next time!” 6

And just like that it was over. Jericho returned to his loft and his bathroom, with his head crammed in the latrine. His eyes slowly came into focus enough see that he was not dreaming this time. Using what little strength he had left he scraped himself off the floor and hobble into his bedroom, where he proceeded to collapse upon his mattress. But this time he was greeted with a dreamless sleep, for it seemed that it was not yet his time to return to the land of dreams.7