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When you sleep, what happens to your dreams ?
Wallace (We are Legion)
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (23)
Architects Of Our Own Demise (Short Stories) Man questions God for answers... and God replies... [369 words] [Horror]
Behind The Wheel (Short Stories) Tirenedness kills...take a break ! [556 words] [Horror]
Biding Its Time (Short Stories) Sometimes, you cannot rush Nature... [836 words] [Horror]
Birthday Boy (Short Stories) Younger children place a great importance to their Birthdays. An importance that adults should never underestimate... [967 words] [Horror]
Can You Trust Us Strangers ? (Short Stories) Your life is not your own... [304 words] [Science Fiction]
Divine Domain (Short Stories) The search for God takes many forms, not least of which is the Internet. A young man stumbles across God's Domain on the Web. This short story is the result of his "First Contact". [1,471 words] [Humor]
Eating Babies (Short Stories) Forgive the title...it just seemed appropriate for this disturbing little tale... [1,074 words] [Horror]
Elegant Provisions (Short Stories) Everyone is looking for the "perfect recipe"...here is a personal favourite...bon appetit ! [420 words] [Horror]
Eternal Diary (Poetry) Your clock is ticking... [123 words]
Goodnight Sweet Kevin (Short Stories) It concerns me that we, as a species, follow trends and "buzzwords", and anyone who dares to question the self-styled Hierophants of the Press and Govenment is crucified at the Altar of Supposed Freed... [603 words] [Science Fiction]
Lost In Space...Beagle 2 (Short Stories) The true story of Beagle 2 ? Apologies to Yanks in general... [1,105 words] [Science Fiction]
Morning Comes (Poetry) Author’s Notes: This poem was written some 16 years ago, one morning when I woke from a beautiful dream. I imagined that my long-distance girlfriend who I only saw once a year was cuddled up in my ar... [65 words] [Romance]
Naming Of Farts (Poetry) Apologies to Henry Reed.... [243 words] [Humor]
Nobody Heard Me (Short Stories) If you found this when you returned home, how would you react ? [577 words] [Horror]
Some Body (Short Stories) Two lovers collide.... [220 words] [Humor]
The First Cut Was The Last (Short Stories) One man's irrational fear following a shocking discovery. [813 words] [Horror]
The Last Revelation (Short Stories) An alternative look at when we die... [883 words]
The Model (Poetry) ...incoming transmission... [167 words] [Science Fiction]
The Voyage (Poetry) We can all sail a calm sea, but life is about how we deal with the obstacles in our path. [130 words] [Self-Help]
This Golden Age (Poetry) I have met many folks who were unhappy with the time they were born in to. This poem is dedicated to them... [164 words] [Animal]
This Green And Sterile Land (Poetry) The UK coined the term "The Industrial Revolution". Once the wheel had turned full circle from unemeployment to employment and then back again, Britain eventually lost it's industrial edge and the fac... [154 words]
Words To Die For... (Short Stories) The story of one man's obsession with words.... [571 words] [Horror]
You Don't Have To Talk... (Short Stories) When you are shy, and cannot find the words to say, say nothing. [607 words] [Relationships]
Where do dreams go when you wake up ?
It’s obvious to most people…they die. They cease to exist.
But ask most folks what their dreams are, and they will happily tell you.
“A bigger house, a faster car, lots of money.”
But these are their WAKING dreams. The dreams that are borne of their consciousness.
What about their SUBCONCIOUS dreams ?
Most folks will say that they cannot remember their dreams of the previous night.
But the subconscious remembers. It remembers them all. Every last one of them, right down to the atomic detail.
So why does the subconscious not let the conscious know about these dreams ?
The answer is simple. The conscious refuses to listen, because it is selfish. It wants it’s own dreams fulfilled, not those of its nocturnal brother.
Conversely, the subconscious has its own selfish agenda.
The subconscious is like a filter. It is peculiarly tuned to be receptive to all the things the conscious is instructed to ignore.
The old man stared at me, his eyes weighing judgement on my soul. I could feel the heavy burden of accusation weighing me down in to the Abyss.
I stood there, motionless in the courtroom, as the Judge looked deep in to my character. Every moral fibre of my being had been unravelled in the pursuit of truth.
I felt that the Judge and the Jury knew me better than I knew myself. The feeling uneased me.
“Mr. Perkins”, the Judge began, in a short and sharp unnecessary tone of voice, “Do you expect me, and the jury assembled before you today”, he said with an expressive wave of his hand, “to honestly believe that you are Guilty of murdering,”, he paused to suppress a wry smile, “yourself ?”
The court erupted in laughter. The attendants smirked behind their hands. Even the artist who drew my picture with his supply of watercolours was having a hysterical fit behind his easel.
“I’ve never heard such rubbish in all my life”, said the Judge, continuing, “I have no idea how this ever came to court, and I am shocked at the frightful waste of tax-payer’s money this trial has cost. Now, I suggest we close this trial forthwith before I change my mind and charge you with Contempt of Court. Case dismissed.”
He sat back in his chair, convulsing with laughter, as the ushers escorted me out of the court and in to the hallway outside.
I walked past reception and swung through the revolving doors out in to the street.
Today, the Law had made a grave mistake. It had let a killer go free.
I went home, had some dinner and watched TV.
As it started to grow dark, I felt the perspiration on my head and neck start to rise. I knew it was time.
I lay upon the bed, gazing up at the artexed ceiling and at the ridges that swirled around my head. Peaks and troughs, like a giant meringue, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep.
And then I began to dream. Of Nothing. Of a vast, empty void of inky blackness, A nebula of nothingness in a black sea of zero.
The landscape was flat. Endlessly flat. It stretched in all directions and dimensions.
I felt sick and woke up in my bed. I looked in the full length mirror opposite the bed and saw myself, like I did every night. The eyes were soulless and devoid of life, yet the hunger had to be sated.
The form went to the wardrobe and opened the door. It carefully parted the hangers, each meticulously hung with a thick skin-like garment labelled with a small tag that read “Sloth”, “Pride”, “Envy”, “Lust”, “Greed” and “Gluttony”. One hanger remained empty… “Anger”.
The form reached for the top of the wardrobe and pulled down a small wooden box. It opened the box to inspect the contents. A set of butcher’s knives of varying shapes and sizes. It closed the box and then reached under the bed for a hard plastic suitcase that had been lined to be waterproof.
It turned to face the form of my body asleep in the bed.
“One left, then I will be complete. All your life you have sought to be a good man, and denied me the experience of the darker things in life. You have suppressed me and constrained me to the shadows of your mind. Left me to rot and fester like an undiscovered malignant cancer, until the guest finally takes control of the host. In your waking hours you kept me your slave, but while you were asleep, you were mine.
There is but one skin you have denied me. Anger. I shall claim it, with a vengeance.”
My subconscious was killing me.
|READER'S REVIEWS (3)
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"Wonderful!!! This is a very good story...I enjoyed the introduction and the line that the subconscius is selfish...it remembers the dream to the last atomic detail! Great stuff!" -- e. rocco caldwell.
"I was drawn in by the topic and when the writer went into the actual dream I was initially confused. Reading on, the details were vivid and the whole idea was creative. I liked it alot, especially the last line, it ended it very well." -- Heather Elkhoury, Chicago, Illinois, usa.
"Excellent - I thoroughly enjoyed this story - well done" -- Erasmus Flynt, UK.
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© 2004 Harvey Kennett
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