The Dream Collector

A struggling writer's chance encounter with the dream collector.

The familiar scent of the wooden bar top welcomed him. Taking his seat and swirling his glass of whisky, Jun can't help but notice the pieces of ice bobbling up and down, as if trying to escape from its inevitable fate of melting. On a night like this, he saw himself in that whisky, hoping to survive under an overwhelming amount of self-induced pressures.  

 

"A lifestyle reporter? Jun, you should know better. How can that possibly feed you well?"  

The voice of his mother surfaced in his mind. He chose to be a lifestyle reporter, against the wishes of his family. He didn't blame them, they didn't raise him up to be a writer - they raised him to be, in their mind, something greater, like a doctor or a lawyer. They raised him for the family's sake, but now he was living for his own. Wanting to carve a path for himself, he took on a job at a small local media outlet, which focused on covering stories on local people's lives.

 

Topics ranged widely since the firm was constantly yearning for the public's attention, publishing articles based on fads. Since joining, all Jun wrote about was on the exotic breeds of cats in the local town, and interesting wedding proposals. They weren't bad, but Jun was eager to prove himself. Deep inside, he knew he had it in him to produce a sensational headline beyond cookie cutter stories - he just needed a chance, but where can he find it?  

 

Downing another sip, he let out a sigh. He could feel the alcohol in his breath. it seemed heavier than usual, weighed down by his mood. 

"Hello Jun".  A raspy voice called out from behind him. 

Surprised, he turned around and was taken aback. He expected a colleague, or perhaps a college school mate. Yet it was a middle-aged lady, dressed in a vivid red dress, spotting a strong red lip.

 

He ran through files of memory in his mind, but could not put a finger to who the stranger was. She was a striking figure, dressed in bold colors that contrasted strongly with her surroundings. Smile lines framed her face, and her hair was neatly tucked into a low-do. A sickly sweet scent wafted into his space and pounced onto him, imploring him to respond.  

 

"I'm sorry, I must have met you somewhere but I can't recall. Where did I..." Before he could complete his sentence, the lady interrupted. 

"I've met you multiple times Jun. Please, I know what you need. If you should so desire, feel free to meet me". 

She slipped a card onto the tabletop, gave him a coy smile and left before he could think of a response. 

 

 Bewildered, he stared at the name card. A name card? No, it was an invitation card. There was no name, only a job title, an office address and opening hours. 

 

Therapist 

26 nyven street 

Open 2000-0300  

 

---- 

Before he knew it, he was at the lady's doorsteps. "Jun, you must be crazy" he muttered under his breath. His feet brought him to this desolated street lined with small offices, against the will of his brain. What was he expecting? He was sure this stranger did not know him, let alone understand his needs. Yet he couldn't help but feel intrigued. The lady exuded a quiet confidence that filled the bar, which lingered and followed him home, surrounding his head and persuaded him to visit. Taking in all the air around him, he went in for the knock. The sound of his knuckles against metal resonated, and he was greeted with a pair of hands, which guided him in towards the room.

 

 "Come in, I've been expecting you". The red lady, was now in blue. A blue two-piece suit, and navy dark nails. Does she always color coordinate? Anyhow, with no name to address her by, he decided to forgo with titles, and in his mind settled on calling her the blue lady.   She ushered him in warmly and gestured for him to sit. 

 

"I'm not in for therapy...I just wanted to ask you some questions".

"Of course you aren't silly. I told you, I know exactly what you need. I'm here to provide you with your chance". 

Jun raised his brows.  I've done it, he thought, I've voluntarily run into a crazy lady. Clearing her throat intentionally, the now blue lady chuckled and said, "I'm here with the big break you need for your career - I'm a dream collector".  

 

---

 

A dream collector? Whatever did that mean? The fluorescent lights above him softly flickered, sending specks of light particles around the room, searching for an answer.  

"It's exactly as I said. I'm a dream collector. I collect dreams from people."

"You mean that's your job?" 

The lady pursed her lips and nodded.  

"Have you ever wondered where people's dreams disappeared to? Science says that an average human dreams up to 6 times in their sleep cycle, yet most don't recall the dreams when they wake. Well, that's part of my job. I collect dreams, and return them when there's a need to."  

 

Should he stay or flee from this scene? His logic cried out hard for him to listen, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He couldn't sense a shred of hesitance in the introduction he just heard, and he felt a nagging sensation in his heart that urged him to stay. The blood of a lifestyle reporter was flowing through him after all, and stayed he did.  

 

He quickly moved into his persona at work.  "So, tell me more about being a dream collector. Who do you collect dreams from? And how should I address you?"   Turning towards the pantry counter, she started preparing coffee, reeling for a long talk. 

 

"I collect dreams that I value. It's my job to one day return them should my dream depositors need them you know? And every time I collect a dream, I take on its good and bad, I take on all of it, so I have started collecting only dreams after I've discerned its value, and decided that the risk is worth taking. While I collect dreams from different audiences, I must say that I collect the most from young adults undergoing metamorphosis."  

 

"Why?" 

The kettle boiled, letting out a cloud of steam. The dream collector stopped stirring her instant coffee mix and directed her attention at Jun with a piercing stare. 

 "Because they abandon their dreams when reality sinks in”.

 

 ---

 

Jun caught himself rubbing his index finger on his thumb. It was a habit that he had since young, which he came to notice only after a friend told him about it. Since then, from time to time, he catches himself doing so when he’s deep in thought.

 

“And your name, miss?”

The blue lady chuckled.

“I have no name. I’m supposed to act in secrecy you know. Imagine waking up and catching me in action, what a shock you’ll be in! I’d prefer not to have a name in this world. If you must, call me whatever you like.”

With her heels clicking against the floor, the blue lady sauntered towards Jun.

“Jun, let’s move on to the next question, shall we?” she said, while gently setting down a cup of coffee, cushioning it ever so slightly with her pinky finger. She glanced upwards at Jun, and beckoned him to have some, sinking slowly into the velvet sofa opposite him.

 

“Well, how do you collect dreams?”

Putting his mind to work, the closest possible resemblance Jun could imagine was of something like the sandman.

“It’s simple really. Us dream collectors, we have a list of dreamers that we are assigned to. Think of us like the tooth fairy, only that we come to collect discarded dreams when the time comes around. The form these dreams take depends on the actual dream, varying from person to person, and us dream collectors keep it with us, in one way or another, at all times. ”

 

His head tilted thirty degrees to his left, puzzled by the explanation. Silence hung around the room. The lady however, seemed unbothered by the silence, savoring her coffee as time crawled by.

 

“You see, I’m donned in blue because I just collected a melancholic dream from an older gentleman. What we dream collectors wear or have, can be attributed to our interaction with our dreamers.”

 

“So, you mean to say that the dream took the form of the color blue?”

The dream collector’s lips curled upwards. It wasn’t a smile, but Jun interpreted it as amusement. She didn’t elaborate further, and Jun chased no more. A quiet understanding was established, and both were absorbed in their own contemplation.

 

“So, am I one of your dreamers?”

---

 

The question struck a chord. The dream collector who was sunk into her seat pulled herself upright, crossing her legs.

“That’s right. That’s why I’m here, to return your dream to you.”

 

Which dream had she taken? What was she going to return?  Jun found him rubbing his finger against his thumb harder than ever.  From this action sprung a soft, muffled noise, which reminded him of cicadas on a summer night.

 

“What dream are you returning to me?”

The dream collector smirked, extended her wrist and asked for his hand. Not knowing what else could be done, Jun put his hand onto hers.  There, she scribbled some characters on his palm, which Jun couldn’t quite make out. It wasn’t a distinguishable character, and while there were prominent strokes, Jun was sure it was not a real word.

 

“I’ve returned it to you, Jun”.

 

Nothing special happened. A warm breeze strolled in through the office window, as if to break the tense air enveloping the two. He wanted to ask more, but his mind was empty, and no questions surfaced. Words tried escaping his parched throat, but retreated whenever Jun parted his lips.

 

“I’ve returned it to you, Jun.

It’s up to you now”.

 

---

 

The next morning Jun found himself nestled in bed, clothed fully in the office suit he wore to the bar. He couldn’t recall how he came home after the previous night’s events. Pulling his heavy body out of slumber, he sat staring out of the window, searching for his memories. They never returned to him. When he was finally sober, he rustled through his room’s desk, searching for the dream collector’s name card, but his search came to nothing.

 

Surely, it was a just a dream.

 

He never managed to find the meaning of the character that was slowly and carefully penned on his palm, and have given up on doing so.  What good was it for, if the episode was just a figment of his imagination? There was only but one change that came from his encounter with the dream collector. Jun became aware of his new habit of scribbling into his palm whilst thinking of ideas for articles.  With each stroke he traced upon his skin, a tingling sensation was sent down his spine, calming his nerves, encouraging him to put ink to paper. He came to choose strokes that mimicked his emotions and characters that embodied his ruminations.  He knew then, as he indulged in his new routine, that his dream was returned. 

Author's Note

I'd appreciate any reviews! :)

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

wow,this was really good. the writing was amazing, and the story itself was really good. can't wait to read more from you.

[Eva]

Thanks for your comment, it really brightened my day! I've seen your poems too, they're beautiful. :-)

[Elizabeth]

thank you so much! and you're welcome