The Dreamcatcher
According to some Native American traditions, dreamcatchers were hung above cradles as a way to protect the infants that were in them. Its purpose was for the dreamcatchers to absorb those evil spirits that might want to inhabit the child’s dreams. At least that is what I thought dreamcatchers did until the day I was convinced, at a week-long Native American celebration I attended, to take a dreamcatcher that was offered to me by a rather authentic-looking person.
“You look lost,” they said. “Take this dreamcatcher. It has magical powers. It is meant for you.”
And I took it.
I got home pretty late but managed to have enough time to hang the dreamcatcher above my bed before I collapsed and fell asleep.
I have been known to have very strange dreams. This was one of them. I found myself somewhere I had never been before. The ground was arid and cracking. There were stone buildings all around me, that had seen better days. It was as if I was in an ancient village on some alien world. Looking up I saw two moons. I was not in Kansas anymore.
My clothing was not what I would have been wearing in my own time. It was more like rustic armor. I was a warrior. The armor was only a piece of the puzzle; the weaponry I carried completed the outfit. Attached to the scabbard on my back was a long broadsword. In my leggings and at my waist there were knives of assorted lengths, all quite sharp. And I was carrying a quarterstaff; this was not for walking, but rather for hitting things with when attacked.
The people in the village I was in looked human enough. They cowered inside their homes as they stared at me. I could read the fear on their faces. It was then that I saw the gang of creatures coming my way. I stood ready to fight.
I was quick in my movements and strikes. The fighting forms I apparently knew flowed easily from one strike to another as I defeated the intruders. Then came the second onslaught. This time the attackers had help in the form of fire-breathing dragons. Though my armor might protect me for a while, it does get toasty when fire continually broaches it.
It was at this time that I realized I was dreaming. As exhilarating as this was, I wanted out. No matter how hard I tried to wake up I couldn’t. This was becoming too real. It would appear that my dreamcatcher, instead of absorbing the bad things and keeping them entrapped and keeping them from my dream, had worked in reverse and absorbed me into the dream, entrapping me in it.
I was literally stuck inside a video game nightmare where I was the main character. Why couldn’t it have trapped me inside an Animal Crossing game? I could’ve dealt with that. I hated violence and battle games. My only experience was watching others play them.
The fight lasted a long time and I wasn’t doing very well. The more the creatures attacked, the weaker I became. Though I managed to defeat two groups of attachers, by the time the third foray happened I died.
Well, I should say I lost a life, for the next thing I knew I was back where I started at the beginning of the dream and had to do it all over again. Each time I restarted, I retained the knowledge of the previous battle. Though the enemies’ tactics didn’t change, I could adapt mine by learning from my previous existences. Though I made it further in each retelling, new experiences occurred to ensure my demise. The worry I had was whether I had a limited number of lives. If I lost them all, would my real life also die? My hope was that if I could defeat these creatures, the dream would end and I would be released.
During one of my lives, I chose to run away instead of fighting. Needless to say, I was caught and killed without a fight.
My last strategy involved co-opting the villagers. If they could help by creating barricades while I fought thus limiting the number of creatures that could attack at once and also separate the combatants, it would give me more time to destroy them. Though it took longer for this scenario to play out, I didn’t die and the attackers were defeated. I was heralded as their savior. We mourned those that passed and I woke up.
What seemed like days to accomplish this task, turned out to be instantaneous in my real sleep day. It was 7:30 a.m. the next morning when I woke up. I was covered in sweat. My bedroom was in shambles. The only thing that seemed undisturbed was the dreamcatcher. This was not an experience I wished to relive again. As I said, I have strange dreams.
I took down the dreamcatcher and thought about what I was going to do with it. Should I put it in storage and lock it up? Should I destroy it? The person who gave it to me didn’t lie to me; it was magical. Would destroying it make something bad happen to me? I decided to do exactly what was done to me. Since the Native American celebration where I was given the dreamcatcher ran for a week I still had one day. So back I went. This time I was the giver. I found a lost soul and offered them the dreamcatcher.
“You look lost,” I said. “Take this dreamcatcher. It has magical powers. It is meant for you.”
And they took it.
