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ONEIRONAUTICS AND PHANTASMA

Part 1/4:
Are you awake?
White bed sheets blurred into my vision. The woman wearing green peered down at me. I
recognized her voice from somewhere. I felt groggy and fatigued.
I groaned and closed my eyes. When I opened them again I saw a doctor or a nurse
standing right above me and someone else behind them. My eyes closed again.
Sleep, someone said, you need it.

Wake up! I said a cigarette break, not a catnap.
WhatI I felt a cool breeze and opened my eyes. A short, annoyed man stood in
front of me as I sat on the bench.
Oh, yes. Sorry sir.
You better be sorry. Get back inside, customers are waiting. I shivered back inside,
embarrassed, and began to wake up as I returned to the cash register. I rang up books, socks,
paper towels, bread and butter, a small toaster, and many other endless items when a woman
with short, curled black hair walked up to me. She purchased only an alarm clock. She wore a
long blue dress and looked older than I was. I thought perhaps I knew her, but I couldnt place
her anywhere in my memory. Perhaps I saw her in a dream somewhere.
She made me feel uneasy. It wasnt her appearance, but she stared at me as I did my job,
not out of interest, concern, or amusementshe simply watched me as if I was under the
spectacles of a scientist observing a new species of bacteria. I quickly rang up and bagged her
alarm clock, but before she paid she looked at me solemnly and whispered:
Wake up. Youre still dreaming.
With that, her alarm clock went off in the bag, as did what sounded like a fire alarm in
the shop. The sound was as loud and piercing as her eyes as she stared at me, but no one seemed
to move or take notice. Once again, she simply said:
Wake up.

I exhaled deeply and looked around. The trees around me stood tall, tainted brown and crisp.
Their leaves and needles reached up to the sky and shook steadily with the wind. I only wanted
to sit to rest for a few minutes, how could I have fallen asleep? Anyway, I got up and kept
moving. I was worried if I didnt hurry up it would get dark soon.
I looked up; the sky above me was a pale blue. The path was somewhat rocky. Dead
leaves carpeted the ground and large red and white mushrooms were scattered around the place.
Occasionally, I would see a small stream and have to jump over it or find a way around it. In the
distance, through the thick woods, I could see a clearing where tall grass grew with just one old,
twisted tree in the middle. Collapsed pine trees could be seen all throughout my hike, fallen over
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like they had tripped on their own foliage. Spruce trees could be seen occasionally, with frosty
jade-colored needles and small pinecones. I was comfortably cold in the slight breeze.
I began to think of my dream. I only remembered the woman in blue. She stared at me; I
was in a department store. Strangely, I then recalled she had told me to wake up in my dream.
Who was she? I can only remember her vaguely. It was strange to think of how convinced I was
that what I was experiencing was reality and not just a dream.
Was it a dream? Was I still dreaming? I didnt know. I tried to recall bits about my
personal life or look around to scrutinize my surroundings, but I didnt have time to think as a
thin man wearing an azure suit walked towards me from behind a tree ahead, appearing out of
nowhere. He was right in front of me and I almost jumped out of my skin when he revealed
himself. He looked professionalnot the type of person who would hide in the woods.
My apologies, but I am afraid I must interrupt your hike, he explained, I came here to
inform you that you are indeed still dreaming, in a type of brainwave activity not far off from a
coma.
What? I asked, Who are you? His facial features were a blur.
I am you, essentially. I am your subconscious mind; your higher self, come to rescue
you from this grand illusion.
But Im not dreaming, I insisted, I cant be!
Im afraid that that is where you are deluded. You see, your mind can reconstruct reality
so well that you will be convinced that what you are experiencing is real. The only way you ever
find out that you were dreaming is by waking up.
What do you mean? At the time, I could not believe this, but it certainly frightened me
nonetheless.
You dont remember what is real and what is not, the man simply said, it is necessary
that you wake up.
I started to back away, but everything soon faded to a deep black.

How do you know any of this is real? she said casually over her coffee.
Pardon? I felt dizzy.
You know, your husband, she went on, how do you know what he says is gonna
happen will really happen?
I must have zoned out. I looked around at the coffee shop a bit. It looked foreign, like I
was in Europe.
AhI was in Paris. I had come down from Rouen to meet my old friend Cathy for her
birthday. She sat in front of me now, drinking her coffee in her red sweater, huddled in her chair
as if warming up near a fire on a fine winters day, a friendly smile curving upon her soft red
lips.
Je ne sais pas, I shrugged, I trust him.
Cathy looked at me sternly.
You know him, I said defensively, he gets things done. Hes always been patient with
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me. Hes motivated, nest pas?
Yeah, she said, I guess so. But just keep on him, right? Im concerned about this. She
was always concerned about me.
Oh, dont worry, I said. Just enjoy your birthday.
She smirked. I had almost forgot.
I think Im going to use the bathroom before we go, Cathy said, be right back. She
left the front patio and went off into the back of the coffee shop. I looked around. Everything was
so detailed and brightthe vines growing up the side of the building, the sun reflecting off of the
silverware, the cobblestone road, and the people walking by. As I was looking around, I saw
someone familiar pass me by on the street. She walked right by me, looking at me and smiling. It
was Cathy, wearing a cyan sweater.
But she had just gone to the bathroom, right? Maybe she just happened to look similar to
my friend. But that woman looked exactly like Cathyhairstyle, make-up, eye color, even the
way she walked.
Cathy came out of the bathroom, wearing her red sweater.
Did you see anyone around here that looks like you? I thought I just saw someone
Non, she said, Why?
Someone just walked by never mind.
Cathy looked confused.
Weird things have been happening to me recently, I went on, I just had a dream that a
man in an azure-blue suit told me I was dreaming and that I stopped, in awe. Then, the
inevitable question, both unanswerable and unavoidable: am I still dreaming?

Your dreams are only going to get more realistic and vivid. You need to find your way out as
quickly as you can.
We were in a dimly lit room in an old hotel building on the 7
th
floor. I was sitting down
on the stained bed-sheets as he walked around the room, explaining my situation. He called
himself Sarum and he always seemed to wear a shade of blue.
How did I get here? I asked, still puzzled.
He was still thinking. What do you remember about your last dream?
I was in a coffee shop, somewhere in Europe.
What was the preceding dream?
I was in the woods when you came to me. Before that I was in a shop, I think?
And before that?
I was home. Or maybe I was at the hospital. I was in bed. I was sick, maybe.
Where were you before that?
I was I cant remember.
He walked around a bit more, weighing out a situation.
Who were you, he asked, in that first dream in the hospital?
I dont know. Sarum pensively made his way around the room again. I could tell I
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wasnt doing well.
Take careful notice of the ensuing dreams; perhaps you can unearth old memories and
discover something about the nature of your dreams.
He looked at me sadly, I will help you, but you need to be able to get out yourself. My
memory lapses up until the next dream.

You awake?
I exhaled and opened my eyes. It was still raining lightly. The gentle hum of the car had
put me to sleep. I was relaxed and felt almost glued in place.
Yeah, I said tiredly.
The sunrise is beautiful.
Mmm, I agreed, and yawned. Wed been driving for hours. We were driving over an
old bridge over Animus River. I looked over, first noticing her short, bright red hair.
Ive been here before, havent I? I said, half to myself, half to her.
Have you? Its 4 hours away from your hometown.
Maybe not. Hey, are we almost in Waseca yet?
She handed me the map. I dont know, she said, you tell me.
I studied the map silently. We wouldnt be there for a while.

We checked into the hotel later at around 7:00 AM. Tomorrow we would head out to the
airport and finally get to my family. We napped from 8:30 to 12:30 and then we decided to go
out for some lunch; we settled on Chinese food.
The restaurant was flourishing with artistic detail and design. Golden and red curves
splashed across the architecture and traditional Chinese characters appeared along the walls.
Carine and I sat at the table in the corner.
Carine, I said to her, do you ever feel likelike youre not sure if youre dreaming or
not? It was a strange feeling I seemed to have, the whole time I was there. It was a mix of dj
vu and dissociation.
I dont know, she said conclusively. Its definitely possible that this is all a dream and
we wont know until we wake up. Why does it matter anyway? Youre still you, Im still me, and
we can be happy. She was right.
I guess I just dont like to think that what Im experiencing isnt real. I got a strange
feeling. That reminds me of a dream that I just had, while I was napping, I said, I remember I
got into a car accident and fell into a coma. And then
The waiter came with our food, putting a large covered silver platter in between Carine
and me. The silver shined so brightly I thought I would be blinded. The waiter brought a couple
of other plates and platters and placed them on the table. Enjoy your meal, he said, and left.
I lifted the shining silver cover, releasing sheets of steam from the platter underneath.
After all of the steam had cleared away, I looked and saw an old dark blue telephone alone on the
plate. A look of confusion came across Carines face and that moment of uneasiness swept over
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me again, but before I could say or do anything the phone rangit even sounded as old as it
looked. I hesitantly picked it up and brought it to my ear. On the other line I heard a mans raspy
voice speak three words, each word spoken like its own sentence and executed so purposefully
and effectively that I felt goose-bumps all over my body as my stomach sank:
Youre. Still. Dreaming.


I heard the careful slosh of gravel behind me and the whisper of the waves. The sun was directly
overhead and I sat in the middle of the gravel beach, looking out into the bay. I was alone save
for the person I heard walking towards me.
He walked up to me and sat down to my right. He looked in his 30s and wore ripped
jeans and a dirty green t-shirt. He had a beard and somewhat long brown hair.
You can call me Eru, he said nonchalantly, Ive come to talk to you about some things
regarding to your dreams.
Before I could ask or say anything, he went on:
Im a character from your subconscious, he explained, I represent a thought, emotion,
or person from your life. We all do; Sarum, Carine, and others youll meet. Were here to play a
role in your dreams. He looked out into the bay in a moment of windy silence, then continued:
You already know some of this by now, I assume. Sarum is the guide, represented by hues of
blue. You noticed his azure suit or the woman he played wearing the blue dress. I am your parent
or your Nature, a helper in times of need. Carineor Cathy, as you may recallwears red most
often and represents someone that you love in your life: a friend or lover.
Do I know these people?
Subconsciously, you remember their personalities from your waking life, but you have
projected them onto people that you do not know.
Will there be others?
Yes. Youll see them if you stay around long enough. These dreams you are
experiencing are no ordinary dreams. They are filled with color, emotion, and people painted in
such a way that will soon be indistinguishable from reality. But these dreams are your own; they
are your realm and you can control them.
How?
In your reality, belief alone can raise cities, wage wars, and cause catastrophes. Just
think about what belief could do in a reality that is completely governed by your own
subconscious mind.
We stared out into the bay in silence while I thought. He continued: in dreams, belief
runs deeper down than knowledge or logic. With belief, you can do anything.
Anything? Like wake up?
Perhaps. Reality is not normally influenced by dreams, but your dreams are of a special
nature due to your strange, coma-like state.
How do I get out?
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He looked at me. I dont know that. Youve got to figure that one out yourself. He got
up, mumbled a good luck, and left. I was left alone to watch the foamy waves caress the shore,
whispering gently.

Ready?
Wait ready.
We ran full speed to the mansion, briskly blending in with the night. There were two
others beside me: Amoun and Conrad. The sky above looked like a sheet soaked in dark blue ink
hung out to dry, with glittering, sparkling stars thrown liberally this way and that. It was detailed
and vibrant, and I felt as though if I had brought a bucket I couldve scooped it up and kept it
forever. Once we reached the East wall of the mansion, we began to climb up to the first floor
window. Then, over the walkie-talkie:
Wait, Adams is leaving the bathroom We stopped, frozen in place like statues. A few
seconds and then youre clear. He went over to the kitchen. We continued and began to pry
open the window pane. It took a bit longer than breaking it, but we were no amateur thieves.
We got in. Where is he now?
The kitchen, still. Just take the main staircase up and youll be fine.
The mansion was decorated with intricate candles, paintings, mirrors, bureaus, marble,
chandeliers, and whatnot. But we had no time to stop and look; hastily, we made our way
upstairs. Over the walkie-talkie:
Still in the kitchen. Hes slightly out of my sight though. Dont forget the maid is in the
Northwest corner.
The three us of hustled up the stairs and went to our immediate right.
Wait! The maids going west! Hold on.
Whats she doing there? Amoun said impatiently.
Cleaning. I think youll have to go up another way.
We dont have time for that! Then, to us: Come on.
We approached the window. In a second, the window was open and I had begun to climb
up the side of the mansion to the third floor. I made it to the ledge of the third floor window and
smashed it in, muffling the sound as much as I could with a rag.
Help me up, Conrad asked.
Wheres the maid now? to the walkie-talkie.
Shes still over in the corner cleaning. I cant see Adams, though. I think hes still in the
kitchen. We went to the bedroom. I noticed the third floor was as intricately decorated as the
first. We passed at least two grandfather clocks on our way up and sculptures and paintings lined
many of the walls.
The safes under the bed, we were reminded. I kneeled down and entered the code:
7587. I opened the door and saw the envelope just as Amoun fell to the floor. Looking over, I
saw Adams standing at the doorway pointing a silver revolver at the remaining two of us. He
wore a blank but solemn expression and pale-grey bathrobes. He looked older in person.
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In a second, I had rolled over the bed as Conrad took cover behind a bureau. Adams fired
blindly at the two of us while we took out our respective firearms. The ensuing firefight lasted a
few seconds before we heard Adams running downstairs calling for the maid to telephone the
police. He had long been too frail for a fight.
Are you okay? I called.
Yes, Conrad said, Ill be fine. I noticed he had been hit in the shoulder, but the bullet
had only skimmed by. Drops of scarlet blood dripped down his arm. I could tell Amoun wasnt
getting back up.
Cmon, lets go!
I grabbed the envelope and smashed a wooden chair through the window, shattering it to
pieces all over the side of the mansion. I took hold of the water-spout on the east side of the
mansion and half-slid, half-fell down to the ground. Conrad followed and we ran to the van and,
without a second wasted, made our way out.
Amoun make it? We had to tell them no. Then, over the walkie-talkie:
Police are almost there. Im getting outta here.
We drove fast enough to make it out without being seen, but not too fast to make it
suspicious. After all, a black van driving in the dead of night was suspicious enough.
Open the document, someone suggested.
No, I insisted, Amoun said we give it to
It doesnt matter what he said. Hes dead.
I figured it wasnt such a big deal that we got to see what this was all about. Curiosity got
the best of me and I carefully started to open the envelope. We had left Adams neighborhood
and were now crossing the bridge over Animus River. I opened up the envelope and removed
the silver metal sheet inside. Puzzled, I inspected it and found it was the only thing inside the
envelope. It had two words printed in black on one side that read:
WAKE UP.
Then, all at once, a car to our right swerved into the side of the van and knocked us off
the bridge. Just for a second, everything seemed to just hang in that moment as we fell off the
bridge. But soon enough, the van smashed into the water, rattling us about inside, and started
steadily sinking as we fought to make it out. I can only remember gasping for air as the van sank
and then breaking free through the passenger window, but slowly fading into unconsciousness as
I tried to swim up. I was weak, and didnt have the willpower to survive. I sank, further and
further down.

I groaned and rolled over; my body was sore and fatigued. I opened my eyes and saw a white
room, bright and blurry. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and saw the hospital room in full light. I was
alone. To my right, the window, large and illuminating; in front of the bed, a couple of chairs;
and to my left the door and my IV. For a minute, I tried to gather it all; I could remember nothing
except being in an automobile accident. I searched my mind and could only remember dreams.
Or were they memories? I was not sure.
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In the middle of my thoughts, a woman wearing a silky emerald dress walked into my
room and sat down to my left. I had no idea who she was, but I felt she was someone close and I
didnt want to make her think I had forgotten about her. She smiled at me and then said:
How do you feel? She had long blonde hair and sapphire-colored eyes.
Fine, I groaned vaguely. I was hoping shed give me some clues as to who I was or
who she was.
Youre confused, arent you?
I dont remember much, I confessed.
Thats okay. The doctors said its normal and youll get better. But, for now, you should
get some more rest. You need it, you know.
I agreed. I was beginning to feel a wave of sleepiness and my eyelids felt heavy again. I
closed my eyes. After an amount of time unknown to me, I opened them again and the woman in
the emerald dress was gone. Then, I closed them again and I fell deep asleep.

Part 2/4:
It was completely silent; the only sounds I could hear were my own breathing and the continuous
call of the whining wind. I was lucid and embedded in the momentit was almost as if I could
feel my surroundings, as if I was part of them. I began to slowly walk through the junkyard in
which I had found myself. It looked abandoned; old, rusty cars, pipes, and tires littered every
corner while large piles of garbage collected in heaps taller than I was. One old rusty car to my
left seemed familiarthe remains of an old memory perhaps. The sun peeked through a spot in
the clouds and reflected off of the metal chain-link fence around the property: the only metal that
wasnt completely rusted. I was barefoot and wore dirty old clothes.
I saw a man walk out from behind one of the heaps of trash. He was about three car-
lengths away from me. He wore dirty overalls with an assortment of metal tools in their pockets
and he looked at me with a solemn expression, having a slight silver tint to his pale skin.
Where am I? I called to him.
I dunno. The graveyard of your mind, maybe.
Who are you?
You know who I am. Were all the same. He then began to walk towards me briskly.
He took out a shining silver hammer and approached even faster. I turned, and started to run
away. As I had expected, he ran after me.
I picked up a rusty pipe from a pile of garbage and turned around, facing him boldly. He
was right behind me already when I had turned. Without hesitance, he forcefully swung his
hammer at me. I dodged it and kicked into his abdomen. He reached for my throat and I swung
the pipe I had into his arm, pushing it away. I then swung the pipe towards his head but he
caught the pipe and kicked my side. My grasp on the pipe loosened and the man landed a punch
on the side of my face before I knew what to do. I stumbled backwards and again began to run.
He was catching up to me as I approached the fence surrounding the junkyard and
climbed up over it, but before I could jump down to the other side the man had grabbed my
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ankle. With the power of a machine, he pulled down on my ankle and all that I could do was
attach myself onto the fence and try not to fall back in.
Before I started to fall back into the junkyard, I kicked him in the nose with my other leg
and began to tumble down to the outside of the fence as his grasp loosened. I had made it out, but
as I hit the ground everything fell into blackness.

Do you really think he controls you?
Out of the blackness, an upper-class restaurant materialized around me. It was
extravagant and colored royal red, decorated with shining silverware, glass goblets, and ruby
roses. Jazz music played from across the room and waiters and waitresses crawled throughout
the place like bees working in a hive, dressed in black and white suits and slightly worn-out
shoes.
Its your dream, you know, he suggested kindly. Across the table he sat, wearing his
azure blue suit and tie.
Who was he? I asked.
I call him Otta, Sarum said casually over his menu, he is you, like the other characters
in your dreams.
The waiter came. Ill just have some soup, thank you.
And you? the waiter asked me.
Could I have some steak and a glass of wine, please?
Of course. Itll be ready soon.
I turned back to Sarum; he grinned at me as if he thought I was beginning to understand.
Why would I want to hurt myself?
What do you mean? Sarum said, Everyone hurts themselves. Fear, hate, worry, desire,
envy all of them are merely an evolutionary response to a grand illusion created by mankind;
these emotions do no good for us, yet we hold onto them like they are us. If one wants to be free,
they must let go of these feelings; abandoning them only for the truth.
So how am I supposed to fight this Otta?
Why fight? Sarum asked, leaning backwards in his chair, You dont need to fight, just
let go.
Let go? How?
The waiter returned with my wine and the soup for Sarum. The steak will be ready in a
minute, he said to me. Sarum began to meticulously eat his soup in an almost machine-like
fashion. I sipped my wine, marveling at its fine taste.
Your steak, the waiter returned with my steak. He left and I began to eat it. It tasted
delicioustender and juicy. The only imperfection in its taste was the thought that it wasnt real.
Ive mentioned how easily your mind could simulate reality before, Sarum said, clearly
speaking to the vibrant taste of the food.
I continued to eat the steak. Sarum continued: have you noticed anything in your
dreams? I asked you to take note of any symbol by which you could distinguish reality from
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dream.
I notice sometimes in my dreams theres something off, like Ive been to a certain place
before or Im familiar with it but I cant quite place it.
Good. Pay attention to this feeling in your next few dreams, Sarum told me, and
remembertheyre your dreams.

Everything was eerily silent. I opened my eyes gently and saw a smooth, side-ways view of my
bedroom, painted across my vision. It was peaceful. The thick white sheets layered me and I felt
slightly numb, but completely comfortable and relaxed. I looked around the room. The
rectangular shape was accented by the long window to my right. To my left was the bathroom,
dimly shining by the sunlight seeping through the curtains. The room was a creamy red and
decorated with polished wooda wooden chest sat at the foot of the bed and the bedside tables
to the left and right were a dark mahogany. On the table towards the side of the bed I was lying
on, a crystal blue vase sat with long, blooming roses placed carefully inside. The pedals on the
flowers waved and twirled endlessly. Beside the vase sat some reading glasses, a telephone, and
a tall, thin lamp. The door in the left corner of the room was closed tightly. Everything sat still,
in place, as if it had been frozen in time. I could not hear a sound, not from a passing automobile,
a birds song outside, or the distant blur of a television or radio in the next room.
Slowly, I sat up. The room around me looked bored. I stood up and peeked through the
curtains. Outside of the window I could see the lawn, dark green with accents of flowers around
the property, and across the street the neighbors house. Even outside everything looked still and
frozen. The sun had risen not long ago and thick beams of orange sunlight sprayed across the
morning, falling clumsily down into the room as I opened the curtain.
I walked to the door and opened it gently. It let out a tiny squeak which stood out against
the booming sheets of silence. Leaving the bedroom, I came across a question that I had failed to
consider. Who am I, and what happened to me? I could not remember anything that happened
prior to waking up besides the vague memories of dreams. I pensively walked down the hallway
to the kitchen. It was not something done out of conscious thought, but rather out of habit, as if I
had done it many times already. Turning into the kitchen, I saw a man sitting down at the table.
A cup of steaming coffee in a pale yellow mug sat in front of him next to the newspaper he was
reading. He looked like he was in his late fifties and was noticeably balding, with many gray
hairs towards the back of his head, yet he still wore a thick, light brown mustache that seemed to
just barely stay in between his upper lip and nose. His eyes were gentle pools of dark chocolate
and his face was full and round with soft, but pronounced featuresmost notably his large nose.
He wore a dark grey suit and tie and sat comfortably in the wooden chair. He looked welcoming
and friendly.
As I walked into the room, he glanced up at me, and then back at the paper. He looked as
if he had been patiently waiting.
Youre awake, he said calmly, how do you feel?
Im okay, I guess. I could not tell who he was, and he seemed to know this. He looked
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up at me with a puzzled look and asked me to sit down.
Have you forgotten? He left the question open-ended.
I cant remember much. Was I in a car accident?
Yes, two weeks ago. You just left the hospital.
I wanted to ask him where I was, who I was, and who he was, but I felt uncomfortable as
it would make me seem as if I had lost grip of my own identity. He seemed to recognize my
silent uneasiness and continued.
We brought you home last night, your mother and I. Carolyn would be here but shes
out to California on a business trip. She had to leave on Thursday, but she said shell be back as
soon as she can.
Was I in a coma?
We think so. The doctors werent sure what happened. They said your brainwave
activity while you slept was very rare. They thought you might not make it, but you should be
fine now. He paused and then looked up at me, Would you like some breakfast? There are
some fried eggs and bacon on the stove. I wouldve realized this already, had I not been so
focused on my own identity, as the smell of the bacon drifted through the house, as if politely
looking for someone with whom it could make idle conversation.
Sure, I agreed as I stood up.
You could heat it up a bit, my father called from the table, it might be a little cold.
I turned on the stovetop under the eggs and decided to walk around the house a bit. I
thought I could pick up some clues to jump-start my memory.
I started with the living room. It was the next room over from where my father sat at the
table. Two couches sat at a right angle to each other in the corner. At the other side of the room
was a dull-looking television standing on a bureau with some framed pictures. There were four:
two of them were of a young couple, and in one of the two the couple was getting married. I
assumed the aforementioned Carolyn was my wife and she was the person in the picture with
what I assumed to be myself (as I hadnt looked into a mirror and did not remember my facial
features). The other two pictures were of an old rusty car (from the 1950s from what I could tell)
with a woman standing by it, smiling, and the other was a picture of a small boat sitting on a very
wide river. The last picture reminded me of a river I had been to. I remember looking over it
when the sun was rising, but I cannot remember much else.
I looked around the rest of the room. The walls were painted a pale brown and a small
table sat near the sliding glass door to the left of the television. Some car keys, a few pens, and
some letters sat on the table, but not much else. Below the table on the ground were two pairs of
shoes. I walked over to the sliding doors. The backyard was wide, but not very long. It ended
with some thick woods which looked marsh-like. The grass was well kept and a few trees were
rooted across the yard, most of them maples. The backyard seemed as frozen in time as the front
yard.
In front of the couches was a long coffee table. It was made of a smooth polished dark
wood and had more than a few coffee stains imprinted onto it. A few books and magazines sat on
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the table, looking like for the most part they hadnt moved for four or five years.
I walked out of the living room and through the kitchen (my father looked up at me
briefly as if he was checking on me) and into the dining room. The whole room sat in eerie
silence, as if it was watching me out of pure boredom. It was rectangular with not much width
and painted a burgundy red. Silverware and porcelain white plates lined the table in the center of
the room as if someone was preparing for a feast. A few goblet-like glasses sat around lamely. A
bureau stood behind the table; I went there first. A couple vases of flowers sat on the bureau to
either side of a CD player in the middle. By the looks of them, the flowers were two or three
days old. The bureau was made of carved wood that seemed to curve naturally and intricately in
its legs and body. Curtains rested in front of the windows facing the back yard and behind the
table in the corner was a small chest. I opened it up and found books, newspapers, and
magazines, all looking dated and a bit faded. I left the room and entered the kitchen, flipped the
eggs over, and moved on to quickly inspect the office, which was located next to the bedroom in
the hallway.
It was small and cold. To the right was a tall shelf of books and some office supplies, to
the left was a small wooden chair, and on the other side of the room was a desk with a large,
movable leather chair sitting behind it. Sitting on the desk were some staples, papers, pens and
highlighters, and a computer monitor and keyboard. The computer screen was black and a bit
dusty. The keyboards letters were a faded gray. The walls in the room were all white as a sheet
of paper and the only objects that could be considered decorations were a couple of framed
pictures of nature lying around. There was one of tall pine woods that interested me in particular.
Moving on, I looked over the papers on the desk. They didnt seem to reveal very much and
appeared to be legal documents. Overall, the office was dull and lacked any special flavor. I
decided I wouldnt be able to find much else and went back to the kitchen to prepare my
breakfast.
My father still sat at the table, idly reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee. I took
the eggs off the burner and put them on a glass plate with some bacon, poured myself a glass of
milk, and sat down at the table across from my father.
You had a look around the house, I see. Find anything in particular?
No, I said between bites, not really.
I think youll remember eventually. Maybe get some more rest after you finish eating.
I thought I might do that, I agreed, read anything interesting in the paper?
Not very much. Im quite bored with the news, honestly. There was a case of a man who
just a few weeks ago went out and killed five people for no good reason. He says he wanted them
to wake up.
I chewed my eggs and bacon. That reminded me of a dream I had had.
There was another one, my father went on, about a robbery from a riverside mansion.
They stole something from a safe. It was a group of three or four thieves who broke into the
mansion late at night a little while ago and now they say the police thinks theyve found them.
But I shouldnt depress you with such news. Youve just woken up from a coma, the last
13

thing you need is a cold splash of reality.
Im not getting enough of reality these days, I muttered, half to him and half to myself.
You ought to go take a nap after you finish eating. I guarantee you, youll feel better
when you wake up.
Yes, I do feel a bit fatigued, I decided as I chewed on my breakfast. It tasted a bit
overcooked; perhaps I shouldnt have taken so long touring the house. I figured I still couldnt
remember much, so I might as well go back to sleep and see if my memory improved any.
I stood up and gently placed my plate and glass in the sink.
Ill wash those; my father said, you go rest.
I did not resist. Eagerly, I made my way back to the bedroom and sunk into the soft
mattress. I had no difficulty falling back asleep.

I felt damp and cold. I could hear men yelling in the distance and the roar of the wind. Opening
my eyes, I found myself looking into the swirling, stormy ocean, lying on the edge of a large
cargo ship. I sat up and looked around. A thunderstorm boomed nearby and the weather was dark
and depressinggrey, foggy, and raining heavily. On the ship, men busied themselves in
preparation for the stormwalking from one place to another, securing things on the ship, taking
other things to other levels of the ship, and so on. I felt stuck in the moment, as if I had been
placed there. Then, from another part of the ship, a voice called to me, almost completely
masked by the wind:
Hey! What are you doing here?
It was a sort of aggressive call, one that was looking for a fight. I looked over and could
see the man calling to me wearing a thick silver raincoat, but I could not see his face under the
hood. He stood around 15 meters away from me. He started briskly walking towards me. I was
reminded of the dream of the junkyard, and could only think to run.
He chased me for a short distance but I was feeling groggy and fatigued, allowing him to
catch up to me quickly. He took a firm hold of the back of my neck and spun me around. Before
I could think, an uppercut to my chin. Then again, a jab into the abdomen. I was bent over and
felt as though if the wind got any stronger it would surely knock me over. I tried to stand back
upright but was only given a sharp kick to the side of my knee. I collapsed like a ragdoll.
He stood over me, watching as I struggled to get back up.
Youre not in control here, he said, as if it wasnt already obvious, I am.
Once I was standing upright again, Otta wasted no time in attacking me with a punch to
the nose. I ducked back, barely dodging a follow-up uppercut. The thunder screamed nearby and
in a flash of lightning I could see Ottas face behind the hood. It was my own face.
Let go, I could hear Sarum say again in my mind. Otta went for another jab, but to his
surprise, I turned around and jumped off of the ship. I soared through the air, feeling the cold,
wet, wind on my face, and I hit the water with a thud, sinking immediately. My eyes closed and I
sank further and further down. I sank deeply and solidly, continuously starving myself of air. I
felt like it lasted an eternity until I hit a hard, solid surface.
14

I felt damp and cold. I could hear men yelling in the distance and the roar of the wind. I
opened my eyes and found myself looking into the swirling, stormy ocean, lying on the edge of a
large cargo ship. I sat up and looked around. A thunderstorm boomed nearby and the weather
was dark and depressinggrey, foggy, and raining heavily. On the ship, men busied themselves
in preparation for the storm. I felt stuck in the moment, as if I had been placed there. Then, from
another part of the ship, that impatient voice called to me, almost completely masked by the
wind:
Hey! What are you doing here?
What do you want? I called back firmly.
He began walking briskly towards me, beads of rain sliding down his silver hood.
What do you want? I called again, Who are you?
He ignored me for the most part and continued walking at a brisk pace. I stood tall and
confident, still and ready. Then, in an instant, he was there, his fists splashing all over me as I
fought to defend myself. The wind pressed up against me and twirled around as I was scarcely
able to fight back, taking a hit to the face, head, or stomach periodically. The thunder resonated
across the ship and the flash of lighting splashed through the frightening night. I stood my
ground, weakly, but I held on.
I staggered backward and he pursued. Again, I tried to talk to him.
What do you want from me? He still ignored me, only responding with his fists and
kicks. He took hold of me and sent a quick jab to my abdomen, pushing me back. I tripped over
myself (the slippery ground did not help) and fell down, pathetically, to the cold, hard metal that
made up the frame of the ship. Without hesitance, Otta took hold of my ankle and dragged me to
the side of the ship. I grabbed onto the railing on the edge but he mercilessly kicked my hands as
I tried to take hold and pushed me off the ship. Once again, I was in free fall for a quick moment.
Everything froze, and then the water. I hit it with a dense thud and it roughly threw me about. I
started to sink and everything began to fade to black.

A small house stood in the distance, smoke rising steadily from its chimney, transcending this
tranquil scene blithe and effortless. The snow blanketed the entire landscape. The sun was setting
and beams of pink and orange sunlight painted the fields of snow with prismatic vibrancy. A
small, slightly curving path that seemed to be frequented by horses and people led me from a
short, collapsing, snow-covered stone wall to the house. To the right, the path was contiguous
with a large field, flattened by snow, and to the left were thick woods enveloped in whiteness.
The branches on the trees tipped over lazily with the weight of the snow. Except for the
occasional crack of a branch or twig, the trees stood silent and tall, wonderfully dark and deep. I
followed the path, shivering through the whiteness. The air was cold and hard, but the sunlight
sang through it like the voices in a choir through a beautiful crescendo of life and warmth.
As I walked along the path I felt as though I had a strong purpose to enter the house; as if
it was a tryst planned long ago between two old friends. The house was very small, only about
three by four meters. There was a very welcoming atmosphere to it. From where I stood on the
15

path I could see a woodshed behind it and one or two windows on its sides. The natural color of
the wood that made up the house was accented by the sunlight, touched upon with color in this
blue-white winter.
There was a stone step in the front of the house. I stepped up and knocked thrice on the
door. Within a second, a young man in his thirties opened the door. He wore a thick maroon red
sweater and a generous smile. He had the greenest eyes Ive seen, a soft spring green color. His
hair was dark brown and he had grown a thick beard with the hair on his head receding slightly.
Come inside, he said, and I entered.
I first noticed the smell. It was the smell of crisp potatoes and old cheese. To my
immediate left was a small, circular wooden table with three old chairs around it. On the table sat
a dim kerosene lamp and a dish of Rsti with sausage and cheese. In one of the chairs sat a little
boy who looked up at me with sky blue eyes. He looked about seven or eight years old. Across
from the door was a small, black furnace and to its left in the corner was a tall closet. A green
wooden writing desk sat facing the left window. Across from the writing desk was a bed to my
right, thin and low to the ground with leather as a bed-sheet. In the right corner was a small bin
of some wood.
Ill take your coat, the man said, who I assumed to be Eru.
Danke.
He took my coat and hung it up on a flimsy coat rack next to the door, alongside three
other coats, a scarf, and a hat. The inside of the house was warm and comfortable and I began to
feel myself thaw as Eru gestured for me to take a seat at the table.
I sat opposite to the boy, on a chair that seemed to tip a bit in one direction when I leaned
to the side. The boy looked at me shyly over his meal. Rsti was made by thinly slicing potatoes
and frying them before topping them with spices and eating them with cheese. Eru brought me a
dish of the Rsti on a flat wooden plate with a glass of Rivella. I thanked him and he sat down.
This is my son, Ila, Eru said, and the boy continued to stare at me.
Hallo, I said to Ila, its nice to meet you.
Weve been living here for years. Its quite nice, isnt it?
Ja, I agreed, its beautiful. Ila crunched on his food. We ate silently for a few
minutes; Eru looked out of the window at the sun slowly setting, Ila glanced at me occasionally,
and I enjoyed my meal. It was crisp, but soft and chewy at the same time. I thought I might ask
for the recipe, but I knew I couldnt take it with me.
The mind is amazing, isnt it? Eru suggested casually, out of the silence. The things it
can create, observe, and understand. Truly puzzling.
It is quite astonishing, I agreed, the complexity and the capabilities.
Eru went on: its interesting how, when I eat this food, my taste buds can recognize what
Im eating and then tell my brain, so I know Im eating Rsti.
But how do you know what youre eating? Ila interjected, speaking for the first time,
your brain could be getting things all wrong.
Youve got a good point. I guess Ill just have to trust that Im seeing and feeling the
16

real things.
How do you define real? I asked casually, seeing how far I could take this
conversation, suppose some extraterrestrial creature eats some of what youre eating and says it
tastes just like an apple. Isnt in an apple, to them? Dont they have every right to say its really
an apple and not Rsti?
Yes, they do. Eru admitted. To them, Im the one whos calling apples potatoes. So
youre saying what is real depends on who youre asking?
I chewed my cheese philosophically, paused, and said ja nonchalantly. Why not?
Well, I guess youre right. That would mean that reality is based on perception, which
would mean that false perceptions are still real, because they are still perceptions, false or not.
Yes, Ila agreed, why bother with was is real or not? Its all in our heads.
Eru nodded in agreement, as if proud of Ila. Would you like some more Rivella?
Nien, danke, I said. Eru stood up to pour some more of the drink for Ila and himself.
You come from outside of Zurich, right? Eru sat down and Ila gulped some more of his
Rivella.
Ja, I said, have you ever been to Zurich?
Not that I can remember, Eru admitted, perhaps in a dream once. He smiled and
looked outside again.
It was getting dark outside. The kerosene lamp illuminated the room dimly, but well
enough for us to see our food.
I remember, Eru recalled, as a young boy, I used to play outside in the snow all day,
with my brothers and sisters. And when we came inside wed all have a fresh cup of hot
chocolate waiting for us.
Memories are priceless, I agreed, after a sip of Rivella.
Exactly. They make us who we are. Without them we would be nobody.
I finished the last of my meal. It was getting late, and I still had miles and miles to go
before I slept.
Eru seemed to read my mind: would you like some food to take with you? Weve got
more.
Nien, I said, youve given me enough already. I stood up. Eru took my plate and
glass and put them in a large bucket in the corner near the closet. I took my coat, coarse and
thick.
Good luck getting back, Eru said quietly.
Auf Wiedersehen! Ila called joyfully from the table. Eru opened up the door for me and
I stepped out, turned around, said my goodbyes, and left. The air was cold and hard, and the sun
was no longer there to warm it. The house still stood upright, blithe smoke leaving its chimney.
The path still curved slightly, the snow still sat silently. I still had miles and miles to go before I
slept.

My vision was blurry, but my hearing was sharp. I heard yelling and screaming, the shifts and
17

rattle of metal and its wearers, and the sound of gunfireloud and powerful. I was sore and tired
and sat collapsed in a ball at the bottom of a trench in a sandy dirt. People ran around me hastily
holding large black and tan objects used for the sole purpose of killing others. I was armed with
the weapon, but not the will.
I stood up, slowly, sorely. The weight of all that I was carrying didnt help as I made my
way around trying to understand what was happening. Men bumped by me as bullets fired above
my head and others yelled orders, warnings, or threats. I was stumbling across the somewhat
narrow trench aimlessly when one man approached me.
You feeling groggy? he asked. Then, before I could reply, sit down, and he helped
me to a small incline next to us in the trench on which I could lean.
Stay here. Ive got to get going, he said, and left. My eyes closed and I may have fallen
asleep for a few moments. Even in the heat, in the bottom of a soggy trench with military gear
on, I felt numb and comfortable. When I regained consciousness, the same man, along with a
couple others, was moving around me in the trench, still under fire. Despite my soreness, I
decided I must help them with their pursuits, whatever they may be. Once again, I stood up and I
climbed slowly up the incline until I could see just above the trench. From my perspective, I
could see at least four or five people ducking and shooting from scrappy pieces of wood and
stone structures and make-shift trenches. Other bullets whistled towards me from unseen
locations. The landscape was mostly barren and filled with only sand and dirt, but I felt too tired
to continue looking and ducked my head down below the trench. More gunfire sounded around
me. I picked up my firearm, peeked above the trench, and fired blindly ahead. I do not believe I
hit more than air. I did not want to kill, especially someone I had never even met, but I felt I had
a duty to serve whoever it was that I shared the trench with.
My memory lapses and has faded, but at some point, after several other half-hearted
attempts at firing at my enemy, I passed out, or simply fell back asleep. It was likely a
combination of the soreness, heat, and fatigue I felt, but as I remember, it did not take long.
When I woke up, I remember being in a hospital. Blurred figures moved around me and
spoke with a mix of excitement and concern. One of them seemed to address me directly, but
their words were unintelligible to me. I must have only been conscious for a few seconds before I
blacked out again.

Part 3/4:
The cloudless sky above was painted in gentle lines of pink, red, purple, and moreeven colors
I could not liken to what I had seen in my waking lifeand a fine green and orange mist spread
itself out all along the landscape, pushing into the corners of the day. I stood on a hill looking
over most of a small pond of what looked more like grey smoke with a light blue tint to it than
water. Beyond that was a larger body of water and the rest was slow, surrealistically curving,
gentle hills occasionally accented with a tree or a plant. The grass was all shades of the rainbow,
but primarily purple and dull pink, and the trees looked like greenish-purple flattened balls
placed upon short wooden trunks that were mostly a dark brown and became wider near their
18

tops than their bottoms.
I made my way down the side of the hill. The ground felt soft but stiff under my feet. I
could hear no sound besides a gentle wind. At the bottom of the hill, I found a woman sitting
alone on a boat in the middle of the pond. The boat was small and wooden and it curved
unpredictably, but soothingly. The woman sat idle in the boat, a short oar in hand, staring blankly
into the distance. Her skin was a deep bronze color with hints of green and she wore flowing
blue clothing that could most closely be compared to a dress, although it was certainly too loose-
fitting and smooth to match such a description. Her eyes were a mix of purple and blue and her
short, dark hair was held back by a thin wooden and golden headband. Her gaze gently followed
the landscape until it reached me.
Ah! She exclaimed cheerfully, its nice to see you in person! Her voice was deep and
welcoming and seemed to echo throughout the land, as well as in my mind.
Where am I? I asked, noticing a slight vagueness to my voice, as if I was hearing it
through a thin wall.
Your guess is as good as mine, she said, and paddled gently around the pond, releasing
short splashes of noise. I was overcome by strange wonder as I observed the unearthly, but still
fluid way in which she moved.
You want to wake up, she said to me, half asking, half telling.
Yes.
I know not how, but, surely, some other part of you does; she spoke smoothly, like a
stream of thoughts and their words, you must find this part, in yourself: in here. With that, she
gestured towards the landscape, which seemed to sit peacefully and calmly. Silence settled on the
pond and she again sat idly in the middle of it. For a moment, I felt as though I was in the right
place.
Here, she offered, extending her hand out towards me. I took the object held in it and
observed it before I stopped to wonder how her arm had crossed half of the pond without
appearing any longer.
Its a golden key, a gift, if you will.
I took the key and put it in my pocket with a thank you and then asked:
Where do I go?
Why do you ask me? This is your mind, do not forget. And with that she gracefully turned
around and paddled forward, but slowly sank down as she paddled and soon was submerged
under the thin, wispy water. She didnt so much sink, but rather glided. Once again, silence fell
on the pond.
I turned towards the larger body of water and approached it. The sky was now creamy
shades of orange, blue, and greenish-white. It looked like several pairs of eyes peeked out of the
water to watch me; large eyes with curving eyebrows, and many of them. Upon closer
examination, I saw that they were merely fish with thin, curving tails swimming in pairs to give
the appearance of eyes. Still, they watched me. The edge of what looked like an ocean was as
misty and silent as the pond, like a large pot of rising and falling steam. Looking around, I
19

spotted a small hut in the distance built out of sticks and stones. I made my way towards it,
feeling more than walking.
The object I had just seen in the distance seemed to advance shockingly ahead of me in
just a few steps, so that I was at the hut within seconds. I approached what seemed to be a door
a bundle of sticks tied vertically togetherand opened it gently. Inside I saw the kitchenmy
kitchen just as I had seen it a few dreams ago. Silence was still upon me as I stepped in to the
large room, carefully observing the man sitting down at the table. His head was held loose,
facing down so that I could only see the top of his white-haired crown. His arms sat casually on
the table, hands interlocked at the end. I stood across from him in the kitchen by the door.
Do you know where I am? I asked.
A dream. But this one is different his answer was somewhat muffled as he hadnt
moved his head to speak to me. His voice sounded young and tired.
Who are you? I inquired boldly.
I am. I dont have to have a who, do I? I simply am.
Can you help me? Will you help me?
Ive done enough for and against you. You live your own life, now. He had never lifted
his head, remaining obscurely faceless to me.
What do you mean? I asked, foolishly.
I mean youre on your own.
Wellwhat am I supposed to do now?
Do what you want; I will not stop you.
I decided to leave abruptly as his answers provided me with no assistance or insight. We
exchanged no goodbyes and I turned to go back to where I had come from. Where the water met
the edge of the dirt there was a small strip along the water of an orange sand on which a young
woman sat, staring out into the ocean. She wore a long red dress with uncombed black hair,
waving easily in a wind I did not feel. I sat next to her. For a long time we did not speak, but
finally she turned to me and asked:
Do you know how youve gotten here? Her facial features were soft; her nose small and
her eyes almond-shaped and bright blue.
Here? Well I just woke up into another dream, I suppose.
No, not here. HERE. This place in general; this place in between dreams, reality, and
death that you weave into and out of.
If I have kept my memories separate from my dreams, I believe it was a car accident
which resulted in a coma.
Where do you think your body is right now?
I havent thought about that. The hospital, I assume, although perhaps I am home?
Once again, she sat silently and looked out into the ocean. I felt empty and the silence
was starting to get to me.
Why is this dream different? I asked her.
The proper question is: why did you make it different?
20

Right. What am I supposed to do here?
Its your dream. Do what you wantdo what you need.
It seemed as though everyone in this place gave vague riddles instead of answers. It was a
wonder I was still asking questions, but I went on:
Why do you sit here? What are you looking at or for?
I sit here for the exact reason that I am meant to sit here. I have sat, I do sit, and I will sit
for as long as I am sitting. A more important question with which you may concern yourself is
why are you sitting here? What are you looking at? What do you want, and why do you want it?
I want to get out! I want to leave this place and go home, to live in reality again. I sit and
speak because I hope to find answers to my questions, although perhaps that was foolish of me,
seeing as though you seem to be unable to give a clear answer.
I have always given clear answersyou have just not thought about them for long
enough. If you want answers, talk to yourself. Thats the only other person youre going to find
in this place, and if you dont know it, nobody does.
Where am I supposed to find someonewell, me, that isthat can answer my questions?
I have talked to the woman on the boat, the man in the kitchen, and you in this dream so far and
no one has given me any answers that have helped.
You really want answers? Go to the man on the mountain. He lives humbly in a small, but
large shack on the side of a mountain. His abode stands in the middle of a thick woods and is
always enveloped in snow. There you will receive good counsel and find answers, but it is a long
journey unless you choose it not to be.
What do you mean?
I mean what I said: it is a long journey unless you choose it not to be. You have chosen
everything that has happened to you, consciously or subconsciously, and your reality will always
depend upon your belief. Now, go! For I will not answer so frankly and simply in the future if
you are not willing to try.
With that, I left. She turned back towards the ocean, gazing outwards as if it was her only
purpose. I walked quietly back to the pond from which I had come and slowly walked in, as the
woman had done before. The water, if that is what one may call it, felt like bundles of steam
gripping at me tightly, pulling me down, but gently and softly. When I had walked down below
my eyes, I saw under the pond: I was no longer in a surrealistic dreamscape, but rather
descending from a staircase into a large shopping center.
Dozens of people of all ages crowded the place, many of them carrying large shopping
bags. Many varieties of shops lined the inside of the building and people could be seen moving
in and out of them like blood through veins and arteries. It was a scene in orderly chaos, busy
and loud in both my ears and my eyes, and people swarmed any path I could take from the
stairway.
Arriving at the bottom, I decided to leave the place outside of a large set of glass doors to
my right. Outside I could see it was in the late hours of the day, perhaps during a gray sunset. As
I pushed by shoppers on my way to the door, I could hear snippets of conversations:
21

Really? one young woman said to another, I thought she lived in New York.
Sorry, how much? One young man said to an older woman.
Oh. Another young woman said, I cant really see why, though.
The door was cold and heavy. As I pushed my way through, warm air with a cold breeze
met me outside. The sky stood above, gray and ominous, with many clouds, but enough gaps so
that the fading sun could still be seen. It rested on tall pillars made of glass and steel, many with
flashing lights and advertisements: it was a busy street corner, and just as populated as the
shopping mall. People brushed by one another on cross-walks and worn-out sidewalks as cars
waited impatiently in lines of other cars. The place was alive with the chant of a thousand
conversations held between humans or in the roar of engines. A couple of blocks up the street a
radio could be heard playing an old song.
I turned to my right to see a young man smiling up at me. He wore a thick black coat with
a deep red winter scarf wrapped around the top; his hands were placed deep in his coat pockets.
His hair was clean, trimmed, and jet black and his eyes were a pale, rusty blue. Lets walk, he
said.
So we walked, shoulder-to-shoulder, down the crowded sidewalk. The rest of the world
flew by me as a blur when he spoke:
You mean to go somewhere, do you not? Yes, I believe I see it in your eyes. In any case,
I would like to help you. You see, I am more familiar with this place than you might imagine. In
fact, I would like to say I am more accustomed to the landscape than you could imagine, but that
is beside the point. So, anyway, would you mind if I were to come along?and would you tell
me where you are going, or to whom, or why?
Yes, I said, I would be glad if you would come along. I have been told to go to see the
man on the mountain to seek answers, but who this man is or where he lives remains a mystery
to me.
Ah! The man on the mountain, he said, as we crossed the street, I have met him, long
ago indeed. He lives alone, near the summit of one mountain in particular. It seems always to be
winter there, and never to be warm, but the inside of his humble shack is much more welcoming
than the outside. When do you wish to seek this man?
As soon as I may.
Right, let us get going, then. Come in through this door, he said, leading me up a short
staircase into a residential building. He took out a small chain of many keys from his pocket and
unlocked the door, opening it widely for me and gesturing politely for me to step inside.
Thank you, I said, stepping into a large dining hall. I took a few steps in and observed a
long dining table at which many men and women spoke cheerfully and feasted. It was loud with
laughter, speech, and the clinking of utensils. The men were dressed in suits and the women long
black dresses. Waiters stood against the walls, which were painted a hearty maroon red.
The man stepped in beside me and led me to two open seats at the table on which he and I
sat, largely unnoticed by everyone else there. I then noticed he was wearing a suit himself.
A man from across the table looked up at us and called to the man beside me:
22

Cameron! How fine of you to join us! He looked old, with pale brown hair that had
started to grey around his ears. His smile was very prevalent upon his face, as it revealed many
creases hidden under his small nose and large brown eyes.
Cameron called back, yes, it is so nice to see you here! How have you been?
Oh, just great, the man smiled, everyone is having a great time, and this foodhave
you tasted it? It is simply delicious! He ended his sentence with a heaping spoonful of mashed-
potatoes and gravy.
I would love to taste it, I must admit, but I am afraid I must leave soon. I come with a
friend on an urgent journey, and we must move hastily. We are to see the man on the mountain.
The man on the mountain? Hmm, it has been such a long time, he looked at his food
pensively for a few seconds and then broke into a cheerful laugh. Now is not the time for
recalling old memories, though. I will aid you in your journey, right away, but I do insistyou
must try this food once you return.
Yes, of course, Cameron said, it shouldnt take long he looked at me, I hope.
Well, anyway, the man across the table said, here is the key. He reached across the
table towards Cameron, only opening his fist to reveal a shining white key once the key had
almost fallen into Camerons hands.
Thank you, Cameron said, And I will be sure to return back soon, with my taste buds
and ears ready alike.
Yes, of course. I will see you again, my friend. But for now, farewell!
We stood up from the long table and walked towards a tall wooden door in the back of
the room. Cameron opened the door and I stepped through.

Bright streaks of moonlight splashed across my face as I reclined in a large, metallic seat.
Cameron sat next to me, leaning over a long and wide board of buttons, faders, and knobs of all
different shapes, sizes, and colors. In front of us was a large panel of glass through which I saw
the moon and a palette of sparkling stars shining over the dark black background.
Welcome to the final frontier, Cameron joked.
Were that close to the moon?
Yes, but were not headed there. He wore a white space-suit with a thin red ring around
the neck. He wore no helmet and his hair was combed back neatly. Around us were metal pillars
and walls lined with tools, equipment, written words, and occasionally buttons.
Were on a space-ship? I asked, Ive never had a dream like this before. Theyve
always been more realistic and normal.
Why? he asked, grinning, In dreams, anything can happen. I think youre beginning to
realize that now.
The pale face of the moon gleamed at us, but in a second it was gone. Cameron had
pressed a small blue button that sent a certain grayness onto the window panel while stars flashed
by, and before I could ask what had happened we were looking at the Red Planet, not so bright as
the moon, but still proud and round.
23

This is where were going, said Cameron, come along with me. He sat up from his
chair and walked down the hallway behind me. I followed, and found that gravity seemed to be
as present in the space-ship as it was on Earth.
We walked along in silence down the hallway, then took a right turn into a small room
filled with computers and various technologies but empty of humans, then through a door on our
left and a short hallway, finally arriving at a long and spacious hallway on the side of the ship
with several pods attached facing outwards into space. I counted seven of them, and by each one
sat a creature behind a computer. Their skin was gray-blue and wrinkled, especially around the
nose and eyes. Their shape was mostly human but with noticeably longer legs and somewhat
shorter arms. Their fingers seemed to be longer and more slender. They wore suits of silver and
purple, with large purple ovals appearing along the sleeve of each limb. Their eyes were large,
beady, and completely black, they had no hair, and their skin wrinkled downward into their small
noses (having only one large nostril) and their mouths, which seemed to be always curled into a
frown or a snarl.
Cameron approached one of these creatures, near the fourth pod, and spoke to them as if
they were an old friend.
Hey, izx, How are you?
I am good, anhd you? izxs voice was thin and tinny and sounded a bit like it was
buzzing. He pronounced syllables with a slight twist I was unused to; most of the time is
consonants were more breathy. From what I heard, his name was pronounced like izz-koo-ay.
As am I. My friend here would like to board this pod, he said to izx, and izx quickly
turned his attention to me.
Hellow, izx said, Iht is nice too meek you. He shook my hand, and his skin felt as
wrinkly and firm as it looked.
izx is one of the few Vizuays on our ship, Cameron explained, he is part of a species
alien to us created from the offspring of humans and Galzents, another species not found on
Earth, closely related to the more popular Eureuhs. He actually has more Glazent DNA than
most Vizuays. His home-planet is far away from here, but it is not his heritage with which we are
concerned.
Right, said izx, I am sure kaht you are in a rush. I will repare the od at once. With
that, a sound of drilling and grinding could be heard from the fourth pod, as its large steel door
slowly slid upward. Once it had opened, Cameron and I stepped inside to the large metal
container with one small circular window at the end.
Thank you, izx, Cameron said, I will see you soon. The door shut after izx had
said his goodbyes and in a few seconds a loud hissing could be heard. In a few more the pod had
separated from the ship and we began to drift into space before taking off towards Mars.
Where does izx come from? I asked Cameron.
A planet colonized by humans in the 23
rd
century. Its now the only place that humans
survive, with the exception of a few small pockets on Earth. His people are very new to the
galaxy, but they already have their own customs, culture, and language separate from our own.
24

Their language is beautiful, if you ever listen to it. Their alphabet is only sixteen letters long and
many harsh and messy consonants are left out. Each word blurs into the next effortlessly, but I
cannot speak much of it.
From the small window in the pod, I could now see the ship we had just left. It was truly
giant and shaped like a scorpion tail. It looked like a crescent moon pointed towards Mars with a
large structure like a squashed sphere at the end of the top arm of the ship.
Cameron continued, They are a proud species, spread out across much land with a fully-
formed civilization akin to our own, yet with obvious differences. They are self-proclaimed
liberals among humans and many look down on humans for their history of failure and their
inability to learn from their mistakesand theyve got a valid point, certainly. Such foolishness
among humans is what landed them on the planet from which the Vizuays originate, as Earth
could no longer support them. But that is beside the point, and I am not your history teacher. I
will, however, satisfy your curiosity. But not now: we are approaching Mars and you should
brace yourself for a landing in the next few minutes.
The space-ship had been growing farther away and the pod sped up as it reached Mars
atmosphere. Cameron and I took hold of handlebars on the sides of the pod and after a few
seconds I could hear a loud hissing again: the thrusters had gone off and we were slowing down
to the surface of Mars. In another few seconds, a large yellow parachute went off from the top of
the pod (blocking my vision outside of the window) and the hissing subsided. I held onto the
handlebars firmly, and we landed, roughly, but steadily.
Do we need helmets? Can we breathe outside? I asked Cameron.
Do we need helmets? Of course not! This is a dream, remember? Oxygen does not exist
here, nor does this pod, myself, or even you. But if you desire a helmet anyway, you may take
one.
To Camerons satisfaction, I decided to go without a helmet. He approached the small
metal door on the side, and, without warning, opened it fully. After you, he said, gesturing
outside.

The surface of Mars was hilly, barren, and desert-like. The ground looked as though it
was made of dust and many jagged pebbles and stones were scattered around the orangey-tan
landscape. Far off in the distance I could see a giant mountain (Olympus Mons, Cameron
muttered as he observed it). As I moved I noticed no large differences in gravity.
Come along, Cameron called as he walked past me. He led me around a small hill in
front of us and on the other side a door-frame was embedded into the hill. We walked through
this doorway and proceeded down a dark, damp hallway, going deeper into the surface of Mars.
Where are we going? I asked him.
Wherever your mind takes us.
The air was thin and the only source of light was a set of dim light-bulbs running along
the ceiling, but it did not take long before we reached a door at the end of the hallway. It was
large and wooden with intricate designs engraved from its top to its bottom. I stepped inside and
25

found myself in a large mansion, looking immediately at a tall staircase that ascended, with red
carpeting, to the second floor on the side of the curved wall. Under this staircase was an open
passageway to a large dining room and to my left and right I could see unusually long hallways,
with a door appearing every few feet on either side. The place was well-lit, with chandeliers on
the ceiling and lamps on the wall, and it was beautifully designed, with hues of red blending
lightly with a soft, but firm yellow and a deep wooden brown.
Although many people sat and ate, the room that I had stepped into was packed with
chatting people in formal attire. At the moment two young men came to Cameron and me.
Cameron took off his space-suit (which now seemed out of place) and gave it to the waiting
young man as I did the same.
Another dinner party? I said to Cameron.
It must be of significance to you, he answered, peering through the crowd, Ive got to
have an important chat with someone. After this, he left, disappearing into the seamless
grouping of guests almost instantly.
I looked about nervously, seeing no place I could go and no one to whom I could speak,
but as I sought to find some way to integrate myself into the crowd, a young woman came
striding out towards me. Her smile was friendly and her stride was welcoming: long, swinging
arms with relaxed, but careful footsteps. I found myself walking towards her. I would hardly
have seen her if she hadnt been wearing what she was:
Against the overwhelming formal black-and-white of the crowd, she was the only one
who wore a flowing spring green skirt, wrinkled and dirty, a large tie-dye T-shirt, no shoes, and
leaves in her long, flowing, uncombed dirty-blonde hair.
She approached me, reached out to grab onto my hand, and led me to my left down the
long hallway.
Are you Eru? I asked awkwardly.
You havent noticed by now?
Well, its just, Eru has always appeared as a man to me.
No, certainly not always. After all, how could Mother Nature be so masculine? Anyway,
we have more important matters to discuss. She let go of my hand and we continued to walk
down the hallway with me.
Will you tell me how to wake up? I asked, eagerly.
You already have that knowledge, somewhere. But, you seem to be getting closer.
She paused for thought, and then continued: You see, dreams are like bubbles. Theyre
all floating around your mind and youre just popping into one from another. Dont think of it as
a linear timeline of dreams, but rather a shift from one to another, like skipping stones. Waking
up would not be much like ending a timeline, but more like skipping to an entirely different
bubble.
Youve said I can control these dreams before. How can I do that?
Havent I already told you? Belief. Come with me, she said, and turned towards the
wall. Slowly, she lifted up her leg and placed it firmly on the wall, then did the same with her
26

other leg. She then proceeded to walk up the wall, as if gravity had abandoned her. Even her hair
or skirt didnt droop down towards the ground as it should have. She walked almost to the ceiling
and then turned to me and called, Come on!
Hesitantly, I put my foot against the wall, but felt it slide down. I tried again, but I
couldnt do it. Take my hand, Eru said, extending her arm downwards towards me. I took it,
and she pulled me up. The hallway had been flipped on its side, and there I stood on the wall,
held there only by Erus borrowed confidence and belief.
Good, said Eru, now onto the ceiling. With that, she placed her foot carefully on the
ceiling and stepped up onto it. I followed, crawling more than walking. Now, we both stood on
the ceiling, Eru more relaxed in posture than I was.
She then walked further down the hallway towards a door I hadnt seen, upside-down
from a normal perspective on the ground. She stepped through into a room that, like the door,
was upside-down, but on the right side for us. It was an ordinary guest room, painted a dull
mustard yellow with a short hallway containing a closet leading to a bedroom of one queen-sized
bed. A bureau sat opposite to the bed and a long window to the right of it, the sun shining dimly
through its curtains. I thought of how ridiculous it was that the sun shone so brightly under the
surface of Mars.
Eru sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at me.
Your belief grows stronger, she said, but your will weakens. When was the last time
you saw Sarum? His disappearance is both a good and bad omen.
I cant remember the last time. Will Sarum come back? I should have expected the
answer.
If you want him to. Remember, he is you, and so am I, and everyone else. Youre just
one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively through the actions and words of other
elements of your subconscious mind. You are simply the subjective imagination of yourself, just
like all of us in your dreams.
She stood up, walked almost out the door, and then turned around and told me: Sarum
has left you, for the most part (or rather, you have left Sarum), and I am not sure if I will be able
to guide you for much longer. In any case, you have got to hold onto your awareness and never
forget that you control this reality. If you remember that, you will not fail. With that, she turned
around and left, much like she did on our first meeting at the gravel beach.
I ambled over to the bed and threw myself down onto it, quickly falling out of my mind
into another dream.

It was dark as night, although the beginnings of a gray sunrise could be perceived through the
skyscrapers and heavy clouds. Wisps of rain fell down and everything around seemed to be
either black or gray, cold and hard. The streets below were colored only by a gloomy, pale
yellow light. Lonely cars passed by far below.
On the top of the highest building I stood, on a flat roof, empty except for the door that
stood behind me as I looked over the city. I turned around, almost expecting what happened next.
27

The door opened and a tall man stepped outor rather, a machine. His face was a dull
gray and he took the general form of a human, but his body seemed to be made out of bolts and
wires on a skeleton of thick steel pipes, plated with gleaming steel all across his body. He began
to stride closer to me, and then called out:
What do you think you are doing here?
I then responded, firmly: What do you think youre doing here? Let me be. It was
difficult to speak as thick drops of rain ran down my cheeks towards my mouth. Despite my
words, my tone came out sounding half-hearted and frightened.
What makes you think you own this place? he said, It is mine, mine it has always
been. Now youve stepped onto my territory, my own territory, and you will not forget me now.
He again began to approach, but this time I would not flee or fight. I simply turned
around and idly watched the gray sunrise. But soon I could only think again of that large
machine marching towards me, and I knew I had already failed.
Before I could turn around, he picked me up and threw me across the roof of the
skyscraper with the strength of a giant. Sliding across the ground, I felt a sharp pain in my back
that I had never felt before in a dream. At once, I struggled to stand back up, but once again Otta
was there, this time pulling me up from my collar and sending a metallic fist towards my
stomach, letting me fall on the ground. The rain collapsed onto me in dense spheres as if the sky
had ripped itself open and was pouring out its contents.
As I lay there, in pools of fallen sky, he stood over me, tall and proud.
Your attempts are futile; said Otta, I would expect more from you, if you wish to be
so bold. He stood over me for a few more moments and then decided to finish his deed,
grabbing my ankle like he had done before, and hurling me off of the roof.
I fell as the top of the skyscraper slowly retreated and the ground grew nearer and nearer.
Then, with a final breath, I fell against the ground and evaporated into blackness.

As if waking from a nightmare, I found myself lying on my back, staring straight at the sun. The
bright yellow face glared at me from the pale, cloudless sky above. Standing up with a certain
soreness, I first perceived the rolling hills behind me, accented with cacti and small, withered
trees with desperate flowers. Piles of stones and thin brown and army green grass could be seen
all along the hills. There were trees, but all were small and despairing as they curled upwards as
if begging the sky for nourishment. Nothing truly green grew out of the sand and gravel, but
rather tan or pale grayish fern-like colors appeared, occasionally among brighter reds or yellows
of flowers on tall cacti, bushes, and trees. The only plants that stood proud were the cacti, erect
in the sand with thin, but long stickers and thorns jetting out all across the faded green skin.
As I turned around I saw a small house not far away from me in the desert. It was made
out of worn-out wood of a tainted umber color and was for the most part featureless save for a
small brick chimney, two windows, and a weathered stone step. I decided it was there that I
needed to go, and followed the slightly curving path that led me towards the house.
The air was dry but not very humid and I felt a sudden thirst as my tongue became thick
28

in my mouth. There was no breeze in the air but rather a solid stillness that made me feel as
though I was pushing my way down the path. When at last I reached the door, I felt out of breath.
The sun watched me as I stepped in.
Hello, the woman said, greeting me, its nice to have you. Her smile seemed
generous but somewhat ostensible. I stepped into her small house, where she dwelled alone, and
looked around. Across from the door was a dusty furnace, and to its left was a tall closet that
seemed to have been originally painted a deep brown, but the paint had chipped off for the most
part. To the right of the furnace was a large bin that was mostly empty except for a few twigs and
pieces of grass at the bottom. In front of that, under the window on my right, was a faded mat
lying on the floor and next to the door on the right was a coat rack which wearily held two coats
and a small back-pack. On my left, I saw a small writing desk under the window, on which much
of the paint had been worn away save for the faded jade color on the edges and sides. To my
immediate left was a round table with two well-used chairs.
Have a seat, she said, and Ill get you some water. She seemed to be in her fifties or
older. Her dirty blonde hair was thin, but long and her face was old except for her bright blue
eyes which looked alive with color and warmth. She wore worn-out blue-jeans and a mustard
yellow turtle-neck sweater.
She returned to the table with two glasses of slightly tainted water.
Do you live here alone? I asked.
Yes, although my father used to live with me here until he died many years ago of brain
cancer. He was a kind man, you know, and I missed him more than I thought I would once he
was gone.
If you dont mind me asking, I said, why do you live here? You must be lonely and
uncomfortable.
Well, there arent many other places to go. And I think would feel guilty for leaving.
But Im fine here where I am, so I dont see any need to change it. I dont very much like going
away from home. It makes me nervous. She took a sip from her cup of water and I looked out of
the window and saw the sun staring down at me once again.
Are you a traveler or do you live nearby?
Im a traveler, I answered, but Im not sure where Im going yet. I have to go to a
mountain, I think. There, I am told, lives a man who will direct me.
Yes, she said, gazing out of the window nostalgically, the man on the mountain. Do
you know where he lives?
Noonly that he lives on a mountain.
He lives on Scire Mountain in a land far north and east of here. In my youth, I traveled
there, but it has been long since I have been.
Have you met him?
She thought for a moment, and then looking at me with a faint sorrow in her eyes,
answered, Yes, I remember him well. He gave me some advice and warned me of a future of
which I feared. Most of his advice I left unheeded, but I do not forget his counsel, and his
29

example, especially. He was a kind, humble old man, but clear and bright, like my father. I think
you will find he will help you if you are in need.
Where should I go first, if I want to see him at once?
She contemplated this for a minute and then stood up, excusing herself to go retrieve a
large, folded map. She studied it while I studied the slowly-sinking sun outside.
Would you like me to go with you, to begin? She asked kindly, although her tone
seemed contrived.
If you think you could show me the way.
She was silent for a second, gazing over the map. Ill go with you, she said, as if with
renewed strength, I would not like to see you go without the advice he gave me, and even
worse, take his advice for granted. I will do what I can to get you to him, if he is to help you in
any way. Come along, lets leave now. And take a coatit gets cold outside in the night, and I
wont be needing two coats to myself.
She took along some water, the map, the fire-wood she still had, and other belongings, all
of which she put in her backpack. She moved with haste, and soon we were ready to leave.
And so we stepped outside as I clutched the thick coat. The air greeted me with an
unexpected chill, and I wrapped the coat around me. It had gotten much colder as the sun
descended to the horizon, and even the thorns on the cacti seemed to shiver. Ila closed the door
behind us and together we set off, with miles and miles to go.

The four of us slowly made our way around a large, boulder-sized rock on the steep hill, and then
saw ahead of us most of the mountain-side. The terrain was as rocky as it could be, and when I
didnt step on rocks I would step on snow. There was only a thin layer under my feet, but I could
see farther up that it would get much thicker, but we couldnt ascend that waythe slope was
too steep. So instead we started up a thin winding path that went slowly up the mountain.
Along with Ila and I, Cameron and his sister Lyna had also joined us. Lyna had thick
brown hair and grey-green eyes, and she was more lighthearted and friendly than Cameron, but
they were both eager to help me get to the man on the mountain. Ila was eager as well, but
became tired quickly, although she refused to rest unless everyone else was resting as well.
We proceeded up the hill that way, along the path, until the grey, clouded, twinkling sky
faded into a starless black night, two times more. We would come along breaks in the path or
obstructions, but we made good time, only resting every few hours and panting up the hill in
between. At times I felt hot in my thick coat and pants, even as we approached the biting cold of
the top of the mountain. Each night we slept uneasily in our tents (we had brought two), for it
was always cold, even in thick, uncomfortable layers of clothing. We saw very little sun, and
when we did it was only a pale yellow, watching over us weakly as we strode on.
On the second day, I remember lying still in my tent, which I shared with Ila. She was
fast asleep already, but I could only roll over and close my eyes. I thought of the mysterious man
who lived not far away on the mountain, and what he would say to me, and if it would help me.
Most of all, I thought about getting out and waking up. I thought intently and eagerly of all of
30

this until I heard a distant sound similar to the roaring and purring of a car engine. It almost
sounded as if someone was managing to drive slowly up the path, but I did not care what was
making the sound. It soon relaxed me to sleep.

I found myself waist-deep in murky, brown water, catching a glimpse of silver fish speeding by
me under the surface. I was in a large room in a concrete building, but it had been abandoned for
many years and it seemed it had flooded and blossomed again with life, green and bright. It was
dim in the building, for the roof still prevailed, but I could see thin, yellow sunlight seeping in
through doorways and cracks in the walls. I could also see a staircase on the opposite side of the
room, to which I hastened, being not pleased with being partially submerged in such undesirable
water.
I climbed the staircase slowly, feeling as though I was gaining weight as my dripping,
damp feet made their way up to the next floor. The staircase was withered and dirty, as was the
deteriorated floor of the next level. There was much more sunlight in this room and through the
broken, dirty windows I could look down on the pond that I was in, which jumped and danced
with greenness and buzzing, humming, busy insects. I turned to the back of the room and saw
grass and moss growing thinly over a layer of dirt and dust. I then ascended through another
level (which was much like the second) and finally came to the roof, which was bright, as the sun
stood directly overhead in the cloudless sky, and green, as most of the top of the roof was
covered in thick, rich grass. Across from me on the roof stood a machine that I had seen before,
but this time it stood still, faded but easily recognizable. Otta watched me with painful vigilance,
until at last I called out:
Its different this time, and with that, I began to walk forward towards him, stopping a
few feet away. He continued to stand and watch me. Youre losing your grip, I dared to say.
No, I will never lose my grip! This he said aggressively, placing a firm, metallic hand
on my throat, but I stood unmoved. After all, I knew I did not need to breathe or feel pain in my
own dreams. But now I exercised that knowledge, and began to pry his warm grip off of my
throat.
He struggled, but it did not take me long to loosen his grip. His hand then quickly
retracted, balling up into a fist, and sent a harder than ordinary blow to my abdomen, sending me
flying backwards almost to the end of the roof. The grass provided good padding, though, and I
stood up quickly. At this time, Otta had been striding towards me, but stopped as I drew myself
up to my feet again.
Youre not stopping me, I said, playing Ottas game. But Otta was angered easily and
grabbed me harshly by collar, although this time I was able to push him backwards. Stumbling
backwards, he slipped on the floor and fell forward, collapsing onto the ground below me, which
wavered with the weight of his metallic body. It cracked and broke through, sending us both
falling towards the withered second floor, which broke and crumbled even faster, and so we fell
into the brown murky water far below. We sank quickly, and I thought I felt the touch of some
underwater plant or fish as I sank. But I came to my senses quickly and started to make my way
31

up while Otta stiffened and tried again to grab me.
I had almost gotten to the surface when again I felt his grip on my ankle, pulling me
again back down into the dark depths of the deadly water. I struggled again and broke free for
just a second, and pushed my way up above sheets of water, finding myself sitting up, gasping
for air in a tent next to Ila.

On our final day up the mountain, a blinding snow came upon us as we set out in the
morning. We had to hold onto each others backpacks, tracing the path slowly and cautiously. In
the afternoon, Lyna saw something ahead to our right. She pointed it out to Cameron and then he
smiled, calling back to the group were almost there! I can see the old mans woods. This was
good news to me, of course, and Ila was grateful as well. It had been long since I had seen
woods, although many lonesome trees I had passed on the path.
By the time night was coming on, we finally reached the end of the path, weary and cold.
The snow still fell lightly, but through it, into the shriveled, spruced woods, I saw a shack of
large breadth but little length. Light footsteps through a snowed-over path could be seen leading
to the door. Without hesitance, we followed these footsteps and soon arrived at the shack.
Ila knocked on the door while I observed the shack. It stood, or rather crouched, on the
snowy ground, nearly falling over with the weight of the snow on its flat roof. There was no
chimney and I could only see one small dusty window near the door. Cameron then stepped
forward and used the shining white key he had been given earlier to unlock the door (which
reminded me of the golden key that I had been given). The shack was made out of many kinds of
wood, but it seemed to be mostly pine and spruce wood. As I looked over the dilapidated
assortment of boards and nails, the door opened to reveal a small, grinning man waiting in the
doorway. He was the man who lived on the mountain.
He invited us into his shack, which, on the inside, looked much larger. We stepped
immediately into a large kitchen combined with a long dining room. By the door, we shook off
our shoes and coats and sat down at the kitchen table. It was warm in his house, and the redness
as well as the weariness soon left our chilled faces. The man brought us freshly brewed green tea
and we drank liberally.
From the perspective of the front door, the kitchen area stood immediately ahead with a
large open doorway to the dining room on the left and the living room to the right through a
smaller open doorway. The kitchen was painted a pale yellow and through the doorways I could
see that the dining room was a warm red and the living room was a jade green. In the corner
immediately left to the door was the coat rack and mat where we put our shoes, coats, hats,
gloves, and backpacks. In the left corner further back in the rectangular room was a large
window behind a round wooden table that had room for all five of us. To the right of the table
was a long counter under cupboards mounted to the wall. On the counter sat fresh fruit, a coffee-
maker, a built in sink (with a small pile of dirty dishes), and a large assortment of spices. The
kitchen counter ended in the right of the room with the oven, after it had wrapped around the
corner. The oven was to the left of the refrigerator that sat next to a small table of tea and more
32

spices. There was a large open space in the middle of the room where a red, decorated carpet was
lying over the wood floors.
The man had bright, joyful blue eyes like Ila and an old face with wrinkles formed from
many smiles, but from many frowns as well. He introduced himself as Mr. Ling and spoke
clearly and proudly with humble confidence.
How was your trip? he asked, I hate to think that you had to walk all of the way up
this mountain just to see me.
It could have been worse, Lyna said, but it could have been better. In any case, were
glad to see you.
And Im glad to see you, he said, now come, would you like to look around a bit? My
wife will give you a tour, and you can bring your tea if youd like.
Yes, the group agreed, and Mrs. Ling came around the corner to meet them. But Mr. Ling
asked me to stay behind and sit so that we could speak alone. We sat back down and he began:
So, lets begin. You have questions, and I have answers.
Why you? I asked, Why couldnt Eru or Cameron answer my questions?
Good question. You see, your subconscious mind is strengthening itself, but it still has
its beliefs. Everyone around youincluding yourselfhas the knowledge that I can give you,
but youve subconsciously only allowed a few of us to give you that information. Remember that
woman on the beach? The man on the mountain was just a thought, rolling through your mind,
muttered by one of your dream characters. It has no more meaning that the woman in the
valley, but you chose to accept it and created my character in a certain way that allows me to
openly talk of this with you. There is no reason to talk to me other than the fact that you would
not allow yourself to talk to anyone else. Understand?
Yes, I think so. Is that why some people will never answer questions clearly?
Exactly.
I thought over his words for a second, and then began again: whats all this about
controlling reality with my belief? How am I supposed to do that?
That, he said, I cannot answer very clearlyeven you do not yet know the answer.
But, you do know that you must apprehend the dream: see through it. Learn the truth, for it wants
to set you free. Find it, and meet it, if you would control this reality.
Is that how I wake up?
Its a step in the right direction, for sure. But to wake up you must master truth and
conquer fear; for you fear the truth. Your subconscious mind has become so attached to this
reality that it now rejects waking life and will do all that it can to stop you. It would be tearing
down these walls right now if you didnt feel safe here.
I shuddered. I looked around me, desperately scanning for any sign of Otta. Am I safe
here?
The old man laughed. You tell me, kiddo. He leaned back, still smiling. Just relax, itll
do you good. Drink some tea.
Alright, I said, loosening myself up, so how do I defeat Otta? How do I stop fear?
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Ignore it. If you fight it, youre feeding it. If you run from it, youre starving yourself.
How does one ignore fear? I cant do that.
Mr. Ling looked down for a moment as if in thought, and then looked up at me and
simply shrugged his shoulders. Youre going to have to try, one way or another. Remember the
truth, and it will find you and protect you. No weapon will suit you better than your own mind.
Mr. Ling stood up and took some old bread from one of the cupboards. He then
proceeded to slap thick slices of butter on it.
If I wake up, then what? Will I remember who I am and what was real and what was
not? Will I know what is real or if I am still dreaming? Will I be insane, and have I gone too
deep into my own mind?
Once question at a time, the man spoke slowly as he buttered the bread. His wife then
passed through the room with the group and continued the tour into the dining room. When you
wake up, well, theres no way to know what will happen. Your memory will probably be a bit
blurred and blank at first, but it will mend itself soon enough. You wont be sure if youre still
dreamingnot at first, and maybe not ever. But you will not be any more insane than you were
when you came to me, and trust me, you have hardly broken the surface into your own mind.
Youll most likely go even deeper before you can get out.
When do you think I will be able to get out?
He brought a plate of stale and somewhat soggy bread back to the table. What do you
want, a number of hours? Time doesnt work that way here. Im no oracle, but think youll wake
up sometime after you remove Otta. Would you like some bread?
No, thank you. And what am I supposed to do with the golden key I was given?
Hold onto it, he told me with a certain sense of solemnity, you will find it of great use
to you, sooner or later. It was at that moment that Mrs. Ling, Lyna, Cameron, and Ila came back
into the room and had a seat at the table (Mrs. Ling had taken a chair from the dining room for
herself).
Will you stay for dinner? Mrs. Ling asked us. Lyna, Cameron, and Ila agreed, having
journeyed long and far, but I had not completed my journey. I politely refused dinner and left,
clutching my coat in my hand as the others watched in confusion when I hurried out the door.
Even I had not expected my own actions.

It was a deep, dark night. I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked down the street. The street-
lights were failing, flickering here and there in a dim yellow light. The street was alone, desolate
and shrouded in darkness. It was completely silent and seemed almost frozen in time. For how
long I stood and watched the street, I do not know, but soon after I had stepped out the door a
silver car pulled up in front of me. The driver rolled down the window and simply said get in.
I wouldnt have listened if I hadnt seen the woman driving. It was the same woman who
had sat on the beach, the one who had told me to go see the man on the mountain. It seemed as
though even before I got in the car we were speeding off into the darkness of the night. But
darker darkness was following. I could almost feel Otta in the dark black car behind us, and the
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woman driving seemed to know it too. We raced along lonely, silent streets, swerving from one
street to another. I knew where we were headed.
We came up to the bridge over the river not long after we left. We sped across, but in the
dim starlight I could just barely perceive a sudden end in the bridge over the river.
Hold on! she yelled. The car screeched to a stop, pulling over to the side just as we
neared the edge, almost falling into the trap that had been set for us. But then we heard the
spinning of the tires behind us, and a new danger came upon us.
Get out! she again yelled, pushing me out of the car so I rolled along the pavement near
the edge of the bridge. She began to back up the car and pull away from the edge, but out of the
night a black car slammed into her, and the first car rolled off the edge into the water while the
second, black car stopped just after the first fell. Then, the car door opened and shut, and
footsteps clinked, soon growing louder.
I stood up and approached the sound. We met under the dim, yellowy light of a lamp
post. The towering machine of a creature glared at me, and I at it. We stood there in silence in
the vigilant state between thought and action.
Youll never get out of here, Otta said, and grabbed me with no particular amount of
carefulness, picking me up and jumping off of the bridge with me as I was bonded in a metallic
grasp. We thrashed about in the air, and continued after clashing into the water. Ottas grip was
strong, but the metal began to bend away as I struggled. All the while, we were sinking down to
the bottom of a river I had seen before. We sank deeper and deeper into darkness, and I lost
hope.

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