Dream's overture

Picture this: a tall, well dressed man, white shirt, red tie, dark gray suit following his slim figure. He holds (and looks at) a pocket watch in his left hand, a book in his right. He opens the book, and only by a soft "cling" you realize that the book is chained to his wrist.

He has this musky smell about him, a sweet smell, not unlike the book he opened. He starts reading but his voice is not a symphony of sounds and syllables but a mere whisper of a lullaby, long forgotten, sung by mothers long dead. He is a slave of the book, a simple executioner.

The lullaby, starts scratching inside your brain, like a curse written on a rusty parchment. The whisper gets stronger and turns into a noise so brisk, like a bag of broken glass trying to get out. The man keeps on reading, and the book, just like any other god, demands sacrifice.

You would do anything to stop the whisper. You would do anything to stop the itch.

- "Are you ready?", asks the man.

- "Yes. Yes I am.", you respond.

- "Do you know who I am?"

- "No. Tell me, please tell me, and tell me how to make the nails inside my brain stop clawing"

- "I am Morpheus, the god of sleep, one and true owner of your dreams, the architect and the artist behind your nightmares. I am the king of your long forgotten memories and monsters. I am the cousin of Death and the lover of Desire. Now pick up that knife and follow the whisper"

So you pick up the knife and raise it to your throat. Morpheus looks at you while the whisper drops down to an almost irrelevant murmur. Silence fills the room mercilessly until the only thing you hear is that soft "cling" of the chain and your heartbeat. Is this really the end? Or is it a new beginning? A new reality? And just as your hand strangles the knife's grip and the cold of the blade becomes even sharper, Morpheus mouths a single word: "Enough". With a swift movement of his hand followed by a loud noise of a yanking chain, he closes the book.

...and so you open your eyes. You are back in your room, in your bed, sweat dripping from your forehead. You look for the slim man with a pocket watch and the book but all you see are shadows coming from the trees in front of your house. Or is that all? Is Morpheus still there?

...well... he just might be.