River of Dreams

NOTE: This is fiction. Also, the last post was fiction too, but I forgot to put a heading on that said that. I have edited that post to include that heading now. Both this post and the last one are two of a couple one-pagers I wrote, bored. They're just random thoughts I expanded on and gave a voice to.

        What’s in a dream? Is it nothing? Are dreams what scientists believe, simply your brain rebooting, organizing, filing away random memories and ideas? Or are they more? Are dreams your subconscious, a way of your mind working out problems and issues without your conscious mind there to interfere and screw things up? Are they your subconscious trying to tell you something?

        Could a dream be a real thing, a real place that you build out of thoughts? Is it that you travel there when you sleep, transporting yourself to a private universe that you are master and commander of, where you float above everything as if on a cloud, and watch down as events unfold beneath your watch like raindrops, each one falling, falling, falling towards the ground of your constructed world?

        Perhaps these universes float past each other like an immense river, each person’s universe a tiny bubble, each one jostling and rubbing against another, where every person asleep on Earth is connected to each other, linked in this river of dreams.

        Perhaps, in the middle of the night, when you are sound asleep, dreaming of a rainy day where you sit, sit, sit in front of the crackling fire all day and drink cup after cup after cup of tea, that when you wake up suddenly and sit up fast, sweating for no reason because the fan is on in your room and the covers are all kicked off, maybe it’s because your personal bubble in the river of dreams was jostled too hard. Maybe your bubble popped, and your universe imploded around you in an instant. And you sweat because deep down you realize your mortality, and that even though this time it was only the death of your dreams, maybe next time it will be the death of you.

        And if these worlds existed, these tiny universes all sifting and flowing past each other in an endless river, simultaneous creation and extinction as people across the Earth fall asleep and wake up, if this river were real, what would make up the fish? And who would be the fisherman?

            

Signing off,

Tiberius Jones