“Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become. Your vision is the promise of what you shall one day be; your ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil. “
~ James Allen

He was lying in the middle of the floor writing and moaning. The look on his face was that of complete pain, but the look on my face was that of complete satisfaction. I slowly blew the smoke away from the gun and walked away. The sound of my footsteps were combined with his cries for revenge and then with an eerie silence. As I turned the corner I awoke. I had been having this dream every night for the past two weeks and every time it got more detailed and more real. My dream man was no longer just in my dreams he was everywhere. Everywhere I went I saw his face, on the street, in the subway and even in the aisles in the public library. It seemed that the man from my dreams was stalking me.

As I got ready for bed the next night I was determined to dream about something else. They say that dreams are from your subconscious, that dreams just replay the day’s events, that they are discardable. If that’s true then why was I being plagued with this same dream every night? And who was this unknown man who seemed to step out of my dreams, out of my head and into my life? As I closed my eyes I was confident that tonight would be different. I awoke the next morning with a sigh. Last night was the same, same dream and the same man. Involuntarily I wondered “Is this dream trying to tell me something?” But I dismissed the thought with a shake of my head. This dream had nothing to do with my real life.

It had become a normal, everyday, unsettling routine for me, go to sleep, see the man, be awake, see the man. So on the way home from work it surprised me that I did not encounter the man. I actually sort of searched for him, but oddly enough he was nowhere to be found. I thought to myself “Maybe the dream plague is over.” I snorted, and continued my walk home. I expect to see him in the streets, I expect to see him in my dreams what I didn’t expect was to see him in my house. He started towards me with slow, meaningful steps. I screamed and he lunged. The next thing I know he was lying in the middle of my floor writing and moaning in pain. The look on his face was complete pain but the look on my face was that of complete satisfaction. I slowly blew the smoke from the gun and walked away. The sound of my footstep were combined with his cries for revenge and then with an eerie silence. As I turned the corned I half expected to wake up, but I didn’t. I was living my dream. Every night since I crawl into my bed to a night filled with basic erratic dreams, no dream man, and no recurring scene.
I had killed my dream along with my would be killer.
They say dreams are discardable.
I say their a warning.
Sweet dreams.