The Key To Your Dreams

It must be a dream. A skeleton holds a heart-shaped locket out towards me. A quiet voice whispers, “Take it. It’s the key…”

I reach for the necklace but awaken before I can grab it.

I disconnect and sit there at the machine for a moment. We're not even supposed to be able to dream anymore. Or, wait. Maybe it's that we're not supposed to be able to remember dreams if we have them?

I can’t remember. Everything's been foggy ever since I was connected to the machine. On the machine, the only reason to sleep is to be fed. They call the machine the END: Electronic Nutritional Device. It's not ideal, but better than starving to death. Perhaps.

As I disconnect from the machine and check my readouts. The guages say that I'm full, but I feel a distinct emptiness in my core. It's not in my stomach, of course. That's been turned mostly to wiring and electronics. I can't say it any other way than to call it my core. It's everything that I am—what's left of my brain, what's left of my flesh—that is what feels empty.

I'm supposed to be at work today but I just can't. I leave the machine and walk out of the resting zone. Hundreds of others do their jobs, mindlessly working to keep the machine running smoothly. I see the empty space that I am supposed to fill but I keep walking.

I get out of the workers zone and enter the programmers zone, moving through there as fast as possible—I never feel comfortable there.

At last, I step into the natural zone.

It used to help. It seems like it used to help a lot of people. I remember this place used to be packed all the time. But slowly the people stopped coming so often. Slowly the suicide rate went up.

For a while they mandated that we spend time in the natural zone, but it didn't really affect the suicide rate. If anything, perhaps it went up even more. So they got rid of the mandate, and now the zone is mostly abandoned.

I sit down on a park bench next to a stunted tree. I was little when we lost everything, but I seem to remember trees being much bigger. Giants. I used to climb in their branches. This thing next to me barely comes to my waist.

I'd hoped the natural zone would be what I needed but it doesn't help. It's covered with windows to let the light in, and being on the very outside edge of the dome... well, you know what's out there. So it doesn't help, because all I can see is death.

Maybe that's why people stopped coming here.

I get up from the bench and walk to one of the windows, looking out on the dusty, desolate earth.

I’ve never looked so closely, but there's… something out there. Just over the horizon. I can see its blocky roofline before the terrain rolls around out of sight.

I've never considered suicide before. I've known a lot of others who have done it but I always thought it wouldn’t be worth it.

That dream about the skeleton and the heart-shaped locket keeps coming to my mind, though. It's all too much.

I go to an exit door. At least I put on a hazmat suit before I go out, so maybe I'm not really suicidal. I can't really tell. My processing unit doesn't compute suicide, and my brain is too foggy to completely understand.

After nearly an hour of walking I reach that building I saw on the horizon. The picture has slowly become clearer. It's a farmhouse. I can still see the bones of the dead trees in the orchard that once surrounded it.

I figure there’s nothing in this dead world that can hurt me. I decide to go inside, but as I step into the living room I’m faced with something I've not seen since I was a child.

It's a human being, unaltered. No flashing lights, no metal pieces, just skin and bones. Mostly bones. I believe it's a woman.

She looks at me when I come through the doors and smiles. "Welcome."

I just stare at her. Neither my brain nor my processing unit can compute the creature in front of me. How long has it been since all the vegetation was destroyed on the earth? Anyone not connected to the END should have died long ago.

She lifts her bony hand and points to the chair beside hers. I wouldn’t normally accept that kind of offer, but I recognize her. In my dream, it wasn't a skeleton who gave me the gift; it was simply a skeletal human.

"Won't you join me?" she offers. "Share some tea. It's about all I have left. I ate the last of the canned peaches last week."

I take in her dire situation and can't imagine accepting anything from her. "I don't need sustenance," I say.

"No, you don't. But it's been so long. You want to remember what it's like, don't you?"

I hesitate. My processing unit has never had so much trouble, and my brain still won’t wake up.

To even taste her tea I would have to take off my suit, and that would mean death. I hold the release valve on my helmet tightly, as if I'll fight her off if she tries to remove my helmet forcefully. It makes me proud that at least I'm not suicidal after all.

Funny that I have to look for proof. Shouldn't a person know instinctively if they want to die or not?

"Don't worry," the skeletal woman says. "The poison won't hurt you anymore. It did its job; killed all the vegetation. Now the poison is gone. It's just dry air and dust left. Your factories work tirelessly to create the oxygen the plants used to. There's more than enough oxygen to breathe out here."

Why do I decide to believe her? I'm not entirely sure, but I release my death grip on the valve and twist. I take my helmet off. I don't die right away, so maybe she was telling the truth.

"That's better," she says. "Now have a seat." She reaches to the table in front of her and picks up two porcelain teacups. She hands me the one without a chip in it and balances the other on the bones of her lap. Then she picks up a teapot and pours me a cup first. As she's pouring hers, the tea comes out in a skinny stream and then dribbles to a stop.

Just how unethical my actions are right now finally strikes me and I shake my head, holding out the teacup toward her. "I can't take this from you," I say.

"You're not taking it from me. I'm sharing it with you." She takes a slow, quiet sip of her tea and closes her eyes to enjoy every limited drop.

I look down into the teacup with its amber liquid. How long has it been since I've tasted something? We drink water on occasion, if we feel like it. It's not a necessity thanks to the END, but water is the only thing left in abundance in the world, and it's easy enough to sterilize.

The Richers drink it as a symbol of their affluence, just like people used to drink expensive wines or campaigns. Water isn't wine, but it's expensive enough to pass.

Still feeling a twinge of guilt for taking anything from this woman who has nothing, I lift the teacup to my lips and let a single drop into my mouth.

Flavor floods across my tongue in a way I haven't experienced for years. The bright taste seems to light up my brain, dispel the awful fog that has clung to me for years. I can see clearer, think better than maybe I ever have before.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Just chamomile tea." She smiles at me. "I see you like it."

I take another jealous sip.

"I have a full box of it," she says. Suddenly I want it, but I tamp down that emotion.

And then she says, "I want to give it to you."

"No," I say. "I can't take it from you. Not in your condition."

She chuckles at me. "You think a box of chamomile tea will save me? I've run out of food. I can't survive on tea."

"I'll take you to the dome. They can give you an END stomach. You can…"

"No thank you." She looks upset at the idea. "I've lived enough of my life. And I know what it's like inside that dome of yours. I’ve worked with your programmers.” She shakes her head. “I'm happy here. There's only one thing I'm not happy about, one thing I need your help with."

If she's giving me a whole box of tea, then I am obviously indebted to her. "What? I'll help you with anything."

"First I need to know if you understand something."

I nod.

"Do you know what a dream is?"

I stare at her. It was a dream that brought me to her. A dream about a skeleton and a heart-shaped locket. I nod slowly, not sure if saying yes is the right answer. I know what dreams are supposed to be, but I don't really know what one is.

The woman sits forward, her emaciated face suddenly serious and full of passion. "We can't fix the world, you understand. We can't bring the food back. But do you know why you don't dream?"

I don't answer out loud. I shake my head slightly.

"Because your programmers suppress it. They don't want you to dream. You see, dreams turn machines into humans. Humans refuse to be trampled like you've been."

"I'm not trampled," I say, but even as the words come from my mouth I don't believe them. The dream, though short, was freeing, and the tea has awoken me more than I have been in ages. If we're not trampled then why are we jumping off of rooftops and hanging ourselves from light fixtures? We're missing something in our lives that the END is not able to satisfy. The brain fog, the depression, the loss of drive and passion.

The emptiness in our core.

She watches my face for a long time and then raises an eyebrow at me. "Do you believe that?" she asks. "Do you believe you're not trampled?"

My head lowers toward my chest, and before I know it my face is buried in my hands. "I feel so empty," I say, my voice muffled. "Something is missing in my core."

"Dreaming," she answers knowingly. "Dreaming is what's missing."

I cry. I don't remember when I did that last. The tears feel hot and foreign on my cheeks. After a moment I feel cold, bony fingers on my shoulder.

"Here. Take this."

I lift my head and see my dream: a skeletal hand holding a heart-shaped locket.

"What is it?" I ask as I pull it from her fingers. I open the locket. Inside is a small computer chip.

"The key," she says quietly. "To unlock your dreams."

***

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