WE DREAM BECAUSE…
“Well, thats simple.” the woman answered, her eyes silver stained & somber. “People dream because our authors cannot. Their minds are so full with our stories that theres no room for sleep. No space for dreaming.”
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She walked over to the bookshelves lining the wall in front of them. The book she pulled out, hard bound & slightly weathered, was easily a few hundred pages. She placed it on the table between her two guests. “This is a chapter of my life. Age 12, July 5th - August 23rd. I stole this from my authors files a few years ago. There was a dream I just couldn’t remember, & knowing that every author keeps the original manuscript, I took the long trip over the horizon line to the Underside of the World & found her office.” She opened the book & rifled through the pages, then paused. “Right here. There’s this little note in the margin.” She ran her fingers over the words, clearly inked decades before. Something touched her eyes, glossed them over slightly. Some memory that quietly revolved around the notes scribbled on the page. She smiled. “I didnt remember this dream, but I remembered thinking it was an odd dream for me to have. It was about…” She hesitated, “Doesn’t matter, but the note the author left does. She read the note:
Haven’t slept since starting this novel. Likely wont till its done. Ill have her dreams reflect the things I wish I could dream about.
Her two guests were stunned, but there was a look of recognition laced inside their eyes. “I trust that you both managed to retrieve your own authors work in order to compare?” Both carried a satchel. Both pulled a chapter of their lives from within.
