Dreamer

The average dream lasts three seconds.  A healthy adult body needs at least seven hours of sleep.  This means that if every single second that your mind is in its sub-conscious state of sleep were to be filled with a dream, you’d have approximately 8,400 dreams per night.  Welcome to my life.  I’m a dreamer, and I’m responsible for 8,400 regular people (because the average person has only one or two dreams a night, if any).  If any one of the 8,400 people that I am responsible for happens to dream a dream while I’m asleep, seconds later I have that exact dream.

            Once we share this dream, it becomes less real, less horrifying, less painful, less inspirational, and the world can continue on as normal without billions of people running around with revolutionary ideas or horrendous nightmares in their minds.  No dreamer has figured out how or why this happens, we only know that it does.  Along with this, no dreamer had ever shared this massive secret with a regular person, until a sunny, ordinary day waltzed over New York City’s skyline and through its streets only weeks ago…

            “Hey Ed, do you have those numbers for me yet?” an annoying voice called out to me from behind.

            I ignored the annoying male voice completely, keeping my attention glued to the screen of my smartphone while walking quickly away from the pestering man following me.

            A news anchor stared resolutely out at me from my smartphone’s screen while relaying her story to millions, “…the man who, just days ago, told reporters that he has the exact same dreams as thousands of people each night is now attempting to prove it to a speculating population…”

            “Hey Ed, do you have those numbers that I asked for before lunch?” the annoying man, Todd DeHertz, asked after catching up to me.

            I answered him with a question of my own, “Hey, DeHertz,” I specifically chose to use his last name (that he avoided like the plague) so as to suggest to my annoying colleague that we weren’t in any way friends and gestured towards my phone, “have you heard about this?”

            “Yea, some crazy cult thing,” he answered, peering at my phone in an exaggerated way, “so how about those numbers?”

            “I told you,” I answered, “that it would take a few days for me to put together an adequate portfolio for what you want.”

            “A few days could be the difference between winning or loosing billions of dollars, Ed,” he responded, whipping out a bothersome saying that our manager enjoyed laying on us.

            “You are absolutely correct, DeHertz, but I also have other things to do, which could also cost the company billions of dollars, but I’m sure that you already knew that I don’t focus my work schedule around you, right?”

            “Of course, just get the numbers Ed,” he replied in a peeved tone.

            “Will do,” I assured, then snaked my way through the crowded sidewalks of Wall Street.

            My thumbs smacked the touchscreen of my phone, navigating through the news station’s website until I again found the story I had been looking for.  After locating the story, I quickly skimmed through the paragraphs of the report until I was sure that it wasn’t just a coincidence, or as Todd had put it “some crazy cult thing.”  It had finally happened.  After thousands of years, a dreamer had finally told the world our secret.

To be continued…

Each Day

Each day we witness many little miracles

And each day, we let them pass us by.

Each and every day, the sun runs across the sky,

Each day we all get to live to see another,

And each day, there are people overcoming greed.

Each day millions of people decide to do a good deed.

Each day bestowed upon us is the power to choose,

And each day our human nature keeps us strong,

Each day our conscience is there to tell us if we’re wrong.

And each day, another sunset will not go unnoticed.

Villainous

Yes, I do judge books by their covers.

Yes, I might use you for my own gain.

Yes, I could be slightly prejudiced and ignorant.

Yes, I do think I’m pretty great.

Yes, I am full of myself and selfish.

Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes!

But, no, I am not a villain?

Aren’t these feelings and ideas normal?

Are these thoughts and opinions okay?

Could it be that this is human nature?

Or by nature have I been disowned?

Are my ways weird, maybe freakish?

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe, Maybe, Maybe…

But, no, I am not a villain.

Sorrow and Despair

Pure emotions of hate and despair

They ice your soul over, damage your heart

Builds in you cavities, and a dark lair

And only hate can you impart

Life flows from your skin,

And you cannot stem the flow

Your will lies down in its coffin,

Duties and commitments are the first to go.

Then comes your hope and any will,

Followed soon by energy and love

And the despair starts to kill,

It leaves a serpent, entered a dove.

Sorrow and despair, filled with fraud.

As they enter, they trick and destroy

When it finishes, devils applaud,

As you lie like a broken, unwanted toy.

Thunder

A little too late,

Never too prudent,

Darting flashes

Seconded by a bang

Clouds cry

‘Tis remembered

Great brilliance,

Forever respected

But thunder?

Not thunder.

Thunder’s frightful.

Too loud, unreliable.

Never remembered,

Taken for granted,

Yet it solidifies,

And announces.

It tells how close,

And how powerful,

Its opinions are told,

Unforgettable.

Hatred

Like wretched poison, wafting from your ears, so all you hear is hate

As the boiling pits of prejudice and discrimination, tainted with blood.

So quickly remembered are the sour words and devastation,

Yet so speedily forgotten be the times of hope and companionship.

Upon your tongue, and from your mouth, stinging words do gait,

Searching to kill, hoping to murder, they slap the enemy like mud.

You long for their demise and wallow at the sight of their elation.

Until, in the search of icy revenge, into sorrow you do dip.

Promised Insanity

You probably think that it’d be pretty nice if it was physically impossible for people to break a promise, on your world, huh?  Well, you’re wrong.  It would be horrible; it would destroy people’s lives.  After all, sometimes promises are made to be broken.

            “You ugly dandiweed eater!  You can’t do anything right!” Hodrick yelled at me from across the measly patch of grass in front of our school that was meant exclusively for “decorative purposes.”

            “Shut up, foxbelly!  The only reason you can do things right is because you pay people to do them for you!” I hissed back.

            A chorus of snickers patted my ego on the back.  I looked around; there was a tight circle of about thirty kids surrounding Hodrick and me.  I caught Cicilia’s eye; she was nervously chewing on her lower lip.  Hodrick noticed my glance in her direction and took advantage of it.

            “Why do you think a mud-scraper like you could ever be with her?” Hodrick taunted.

            A faceless voice from the crowd appealed to the devil sitting on my left shoulder, “Go get him Slason!”

            Without debate, I obeyed.  I lunged towards Hodrick, fully prepared to beat on him until he was a crying pulp of embarrassment.  An outspread palm, pushing me back to my original position on the lawn met my face.

            “Mr. Hiatrick, Mr. Dumblune, that is quite enough!” growled Mr. Bune, “Now if you’d both come with me, I’m certain that we can find a solution to this problem, whatever it may be.”

            Mr. Bune followed closely behind us while we entered the school, but took the lead once we were inside.

            With Mr. Bune’s back turned, Hodrick was brave enough to keep adding insults; “A person like you should never be allowed to walk next to a person like me!  Crawl, Slason, crawl!”

            “I promise you, Hodrick, one day I will kill you!” I spat in a harsh whisper, a little too loudly.

            Mr. Bune spun around with a ferocity I had never before witnessed in him.  Fear gripped at the corners of his eyes, although he tried in vain to hide it.

            While grabbing me wildly, Mr. Bune screeched, “Run, Hodrick!  Run as fast as you can and get the authorities or you will be dead by sundown!  He’s made a promise, and now it must be fulfilled unless we stop him!  Go!”

            It was an astonishingly short amount of time before the authorities showed up, but in that short amount of time, I was able to recollect on what just happened.  I had just made a promise, and on Orotho, promises are never broken.

            Never, on Orotho, had a promise gone unfulfilled without the promise-maker going insane.  No one knows why this is.  For centuries, it has taunted curiosities and troubled some of the greatest minds Orotho has to offer.  Yet, it has never been figured out.  On Orotho, it has simply become a way of life; it has been accepted.

            The first unfortunate authorities assigned to my case (the ones reached by Hodrick) came in astounding amounts, considering I am only fifteen.  However, the forty-or-so grown men could not contain me.  I chewed through whatever attempted to hold me, including arms, chains, ropes, and leashes laced with crippling drugs.  I fought through their swords and well aimed bullets.  The stars granted me the power I needed to win that confrontation, but eventually, I would not succeed in my mission.

            I chased Hodrick for days.  From town, to city, to farmland, to town, he led and I followed.  All the while, authorities swarmed me.  It took them twelve days, but eventually, they acquired a firm enough grip on me to take me prisoner.

            From there, they transported me to the Institute for Oathers (the term for those who make dangerous pledges on Orotho), and that is where I currently reside.  Madness pulses through my veins and gnaws on my brain.  Desperate power granted to me by my promise forces my extremities into fits of spasms.  The guards outside my solid cement cell feed my insanity.  They have allowed me a single pen, but no paper.

            If you are now reading this, my body was found, with my story scribbled all over it and a pen protruding from my abdomen like a scrawny javelin.  The guard who found me then must have indulged in sharing a juicy secret, and the news, if not the actual words, has reached scouts on your planet.  To you, I bid adieu, and beg that you never make a promise on Orotho.