Dream weaver

Little Rose ran towards the house as fast as her six-year old legs would carry her. She kept tripping on rocks and tree roots that seemed to come out of nowhere. Her knees were bloodied as were the palms of her hands. Even so, her tears were of terror, not pain.

As the door of the house grew closer, Little Rose reached out her hand. She could almost touch the knob. She glanced back. Her eyes opened wide, the fear tangible. She screamed, but it came out a strangled, animal-like sound as the six-foot insect behind her stuck her in the leg and with a slurp, she was drained of her blood.

“That's quite enough, Grant Oliver Davis,” said Teacher sternly. “You must take your imaginings, more seriously. The power you wield is not a toy. This is not a game.”

“But, Teacher, it’s all in my imagination. What difference does it make? It isn’t real.”

“For those who live in your dreams, everything you imagine will be as real as I am to you.”

“In other words, someone could be dreaming us, too?”

Teacher smiled. “Does it matter?”

Grant thought about it. “I really don’t think so. If I feel I am in control and making things happen, I guess it doesn’t matter if I am actually a figment of someone else’s imagination.” He was quiet for a moment. “But, I would never want to find out. I prefer my existence as it is: Grant the Great, the omnipotent, Ruler of all…that he dreams.” He laughed.

Teacher smiled again and said, “Just throw in a little compassion and consideration with your omnipotence, Grant. Just because you can have happen whatever you wish, doesn’t mean you should. With great power comes great responsibility. Remember that.”

“I really don’t see that it matters if it’s all in my mind…”

“Let us return to the question are you a product of someone’s imagination. Do you feel real, alive?”

“Of course.”

“And if I tell you that you are but my creation, doing as I will you to do, does that make you feel less real, less in control?”

“No, just annoyed.”

Teacher laughed. “Well, so it will be with your dreamed creations. They will not know they are mere whispers in the wind; shadows of your mind. They won’t know why they are, they will just be…until you cease to dream them. Perhaps, they will seek to know, but the knowledge will be forever beyond their grasp.” Teacher was silent for a moment. "And the knowledge must remain a mystery, Grant Oliver Davis. Just as you would not wish to know, they must not know. You, as Creator, must never forget who you are and what you are doing. Nothing you dream has the power to understand existence as you do. It would be dangerous albeit easy to forget. Be sure you don’t.”

“Yes, Teacher,” Grant replied as he leaned back and closed his eyes to dream some more.