Dream Collector

The shop door opens. A man walks in. Tall, dark hair, with a hint of distress behind blue eyes. Those are the best kind.

“Excuse me, miss?” he says. “Are you the dream collector?” He's holding a small dreamcatcher in his hands.

“Yes, that would be me,” I say. “How can I help you?”

“Well- well you see, I- I had this dream, a sort of bad dream. Actually, no, it was more like an important dream, and, well I can't seem to get it back.”

“Have you tried waking up and going back to sleep again?”

“What? Um yeah, I think the dream just got stuck in the dream catcher.”

Great, another humorless client. Maybe Blue Eyes isn't all he's cracked up to be.

“Can you get the dream back out?”

I stretch my hand out and he hands me the dreamcatcher. The webbing is delicately woven, the wooden ring is discolored and the feathers hanging down are tattered and some are completely bare. The dreamcatcher is clearly battered with age, probably passed down for generations, finding his dream isn't going to be an easy task.

“Yes, I believe I can get your dream back,” I say, “but it may take a while, there seems to be dreams from several people here.” I run my fingers across the webbing to show him. I honestly don't know why I bother, force of habit I suppose, I know he doesn't see what I see. “Both good and bad dreams by the looks of it. A job like this is going to cost you.”

“Anything, I'll pay anything, name your price, I need that dream back.”

Distressed and desperate. Good.

“Well, you may have heard I don't take standard forms of payment, I prefer to trade my services for something of equal value.”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“A dream, a nightmare to be more specific.”

“Okay, take as many as you want I'm sure there's plenty there,” Blue Eyes said as he points at the dreamcatcher.

“I don't take second hand dreams, I want a fresh dream, and a good one at that - or should I say bad.”

“I can't just have a nightmare.”

“Sure you can.” I motion him over to a cot in the corner of the shop. Several of my own dreamcatchers line the wall above it. I instruct him to lie down. He does. “I'll put some of the nightmares from your dreamcatcher back into your head and you can do the rest.”

“Okay, but what if it doesn't work?”

“Oh it'll work, I guarantee it. Now close your eyes.” He does. I strip some of the thicker nightmares from his dream catcher, and a few thin good dreams to keep things interesting, and I plant them in his head. His breathing slows immediately. He's asleep.

Good. Time to work.

I began striping dreams one by one from the dreamcatcher, placing bad dreams in one container and good dreams in another. It's tedious work. My fingers are beginning to tire.

Time passes. He starts to shake. His breath quickens. He's having a nightmare, and a beautiful one at that. Sweat is dripping from his forehead. He's rolling back and forth. Several of the dreamcatchers surrounding him are shaking. His dream is becoming stronger than I could have hoped for.

I continue taking the dreams off one by one. Most of these dreams are absolutely unoriginal. Standard nightmares. Dreams of being chased, dreams of falling, dreams of teeth falling out - seriously, what's with that one? Why does everyone these days seem to dream about losing teeth? And then, of course, there are the good dreams that have gotten stuck in there. Dreams of finding love, money, happiness. So trivial. Also unoriginal. Hopefully the good dreams that made it through were a little more creative.

The dreamcatchers on the wall have stopped shaking. So has Blue Eyes. His breathing begins returning to normal. He should be awake soon.

I continue. Bad dreams to this jar. Good dreams to that jar. One by one, I continue.

A small dream wrapped around the center most part of the webbing remains. It is wound tightly, desperately hanging on. This is the dream he was looking for. Only the most complicated dreams attach themselves to dreamcatchers like that. Dreams that are so good you want to have them again. But dreams that are so powerful, so strong, that a person simply cannot survive by having them twice. So they wrap themselves around the dream catchers webbing in an attempt to save the dreamer from themselves.

Complicated dreams like that are no doubt the most important. Dreams that border on prophecy. Dreams that could change your entire future (If you can remember them). These dreams are dangerous. And these dreams are the reason I'm still in business. These dreams people simply can't seem to live without.

Uncoiling a dream such as this isn't difficult, per se, but it does require a good amount of skill. Lucky for Blue Eyes, and all of the other hopeless dreamers that request my help, I'm one of the best dream collectors there is.

The dream is now completely unattached. I put it in a special jar of its own. He's waking up.

His eyes open. He rubs them and looks around. He sits up and stretches. He looks at me.

Fear. Most definitely fear. Even better.

“What, bad dream?” I say. No response. Maybe Blue Eyes should consider getting a sense of humor instead of having his dream returned.

“Did you find my dream?”

Direct and to the point. Nice. Note to self: fear cancels out nervousness, but desperation remains.

“Yes,” I hand him the dream in the jar by itself. “I believe this is the dream you were looking for.” He takes the jar.

“What do I do with this?” He asks.

“It has to be put back in your head, like I did with the nightmares I just gave you.” He hands the jar back. “Would you like me to keep the dream instead or would you like me to put it back in your head?” These things really could go either way.

“Put it back. I need to know what's in the dream.” Desperation is flooding out of him.

“Very well,” I say, “lay back down.” He does. I open the jar and take the dream out. I plant it back in his head.

He falls asleep.

He dreams.

He stops.

He doesn't wake up this time. Too bad. Today wasn't your day, Blue Eyes.

I drag the body outside, into the alley behind the shop, and leave it with the others.

I go back in to check the dream catchers. Two new dreams are woven into the webbing. One of them, the nightmare I created, the other, the dream he died to get back.

Let's start with the nightmare. I run the dream between my fingers. This is by far the best nightmare he's ever had judging by the ones I took from his dreamcatcher. Simple. Understated. Powerful. His great nightmare was that he would get his dream back and not be able to do anything about it.

The fear the dream had created tightens the importance of the dream he was trying to get back. What could be so important? Let's take a look.

The dream coiled itself onto my dreamcatcher the same way as it had onto his. I carefully pry it off. I run it between my fingers.

He was right for being concerned. Life changing, life saving even. But sadly he interpreted it all wrong.

They always do.

They wake up remembering the dream was a matter of life or death. They don't realize the dream is what will cause their death.

So sad.

For them.

However, I get two new dreams to add to my shelf. So, all in all, I'd say today was a good day's work.