Chapter 14

I awake to a world of color. Bright magenta, neon orange, and electric yellow suggest a sunset in the background. The sun, half vanished behind the horizon, has marks undulating off of it, giving it the appearance of sun beams that a four year old would draw.

“Oh no,” I mumble, turning around.

A giant tree greets me; at least, I assume it's a tree. A rudimentary tree trunk sports a bubbled top where the green smudges of its coloring dips erratically past the lines in various spots. Below me are jagged tufts of grass that sway in the non-existent wind. Beyond and to the east, I see the tellings of a rainbow. Someone must have lost a crayon, because the red section had been replaced with a smear of hot pink. There is an odd, claustrophobic feeling I get that comes from the background -which feels too close- and the silence.

“Guinness...” I trail off into the silence, my eyes roving the odd scene for my bearded companion.

“What?” his voice asks behind me. The silence makes his voice louder than it is, and I jump compulsively.

“Where have you sent me?”

Guinness strokes his gray mustache thoughtfully as he looks around, and I watch as his eyes become happy and clouded with whimsy.

“I've been working on this beauty for some time now. It's been a while since I've had this dream. Consider yourself lucky that it wasn't a nightmare you were pulled into.”

I can't argue with that, and so I swallow any smart-a*s comments I was beginning to formulate. I watch as a crayon materializes out of the scenery and into Guinness' hand. He trundles like a fat kid as fast as he can toward what I can see is the backdrop of the dream �" a giant canvas that has the tree and sunset drawn on it. He begins to draw birds (little ones in the sky flying away that look like stretched M's). Birdsong immediately breaks the silence, and the unsettling nausea of claustrophobia begins to pass.

Guinness turns back to me, a proud expression touching his features as he brandishes the crayon. “Pretty nifty, huh?”

“Sure,” I manage, but when another crayon materializes and drops into my hand, I shake my head.

“I don't think so. I'm no artist.”

“And you think I am?” Guinness exclaims, indicating the horribly drawn tree and sunset and birds. “It's therapeutic.”

I roll my eyes, figure that I can't do worse than coloring outside of the lines on a simple tree, and set to work. There's nothing to do but wait, anyway.

I start with a square and a triangle, making it as simple as possible so that it doesn't clash with the rest of the scene. When I make a chimney and scribble some circles for smoke, I notice them begin to undulate like the sun beams, and the sharp scent of burning wood assaults my nose.

Alright. This is fun, as much as I hate to admit. I'm about to draw a door when a high-pitched voice calls out.

“Morpheus!”

Guinness and I looked up from our works of art, both our brows crooking quizzically at the sight of her. She almost seemed like a work of art herself, one drawn with a practiced, steady, and talented hand. Her complexion was pale white, bordering on an icy blue, as if her body had been in the cold too long. Her lips were tinted blue and were spread wide into a perfect smile. Her hair was long and thick and the color of a first winter's snow �" hey, I wrote some poetry when I was in college, so sue me for being sickeningly descriptive.

She was beautiful, but someone who seemed... beyond me. Beyond my plane of existence. Just one look told me she was ethereal and untouchable. At various points on her body, which was covered in an off-white toga, pinpoints of stars faded in and out of her being, the brightest being made up of several in the form of a crown above her head.

“Who are you?” I finally asked, a tone of suspicion seeping through my attempted nonchalance.

“Who... Who am I?” she squeaked, voice raising even further and a pale hand moving to touch her chest. I glanced over at Guinness, offering him a quick shrug before looking back at the celestial woman before me.

“Why, I am your betrothed!”

I stared hard at her for several moments before choking back a giggle.

“Sorry, lady, I don't have a fiance. The last one I did took everything in the divorce, and left me penniless. So excuse me if I don't go down that road again.”

“How do you not remember me? What have they done to you, my dear Morpheus!”

“Morphwhatsit?” Guinness asks, and I'm glad he's piped up. I hate dealing with crazies without his aid.

“Morpheus,” the woman said hotly, her hands clenching at her sides. “That is you.” She suddenly wails and throws herself upon me, where I am surprised she is someone that I can touch.

“I forgot, he made you forget yourself!”

She sobbed softly and delicately into my shoulder, and I noticed her tears were icy to the touch before grabbing her shoulders and holding her at arms length. She seemed distressed by this action, for she gives me a look of bewilderment before breaking into tears again.

“Lady...” I began uneasily, “I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about.”

I don't have any practice with chicks that cry �" my ex-wife was a cold-hearted b***h, and so I shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable.

“Please, don't cry. We'll figure this out. Who are you and where do you come from?”

I let her go, but she did not back away.

“My name is Asteria. I am a titan from the old world, one of the many who were overthrown by the Olympians. I am a goddess of prophetic dreams and astrology. You are Morpheus, god of dreams.”

“Lady, I'm afraid you've got the wrong person. I don't know how you are able to travel dreams, but you obviously are on some epic quest that doesn't involve me.”

“No! You are him,” she said with such conviction that I almost believed her. “If you don't believe me, ask the gnome!”

Guinness had been slowly skulking away, but he stopped dead in his tracks when this 'Asteria' called him out.

“Look,” he said, putting his hands out in surrender, “She contacted me a few nights ago, but we got cut off from one another abruptly. I figured the dame was crazy, so I didn't say anything.”

She is, I thought, feeling a bit of regret at having to admit it. After all, it would have been pretty bad-a*s to have had the title of God of the Dream World.

“I'm afraid you have the wrong guy,” I stated again apologetically. I dipped my hand into the smelling salts.

“Don't you ever wonder why you are the only human who can access this world?”

I stopped.

“You were placed in this... this mortal,” and she said mortal as if she had just tasted a lemon, “...body when your memories had been erased. No one had thought he was powerful enough to do such a thing, but he had been storing up power with nightmares... all under our nose and we didn't know it.”

“Whoa, whoa. I have no idea what you're talking about and you're not exactly easing me into all this information.”

“I'm sorry,” she nodded, “You're right, but I'm trying to get as much information as possible to you in case you leave.”

I sighed. “I won't leave. Just tell me how I'm able to go into dreams, and explain how you were able to send me those signs.”

Asteria took a deep breath, calming herself down as she explained.

“I am able to alter little things in the mortal realm, thus the signs. You are the god of dreams, otherwise known as Morpheus.”

“Okay... let's just assume for a moment that I believe that.”

“It would be easier if I could let you see what happened in your dreams.”

“I don't dream.”

“You would if I have permission to make you dream. My power extends to that for mortals. Which you are now.” She appeared aggrieved at such a title, a hand dramatically moving to her mouth as she stifled another sob.

“You have my permission, miss, but I don't think-”

“You will.”

I held my tongue and just nodded.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

She moved forward to lock me in a firm embrace and kissed me long and lingering on the lips. I didn't complain.

She reached down and grabbed a pinch of the smelling salts, rubbing her cheek softly against mine before throwing them into the air, sending me into darkness.