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(Book XII)

Book XII
Book 12

Today there is a world inside worlds which we call dreams. But Reader, don’t you think it’s getting harder to tell them apart? We see the same people in our dreams that we see on the highways, in the office, or in the park during the day. They talk to us just like real people, but they say different things. The people in dreams respond to how we think; they aren’t as worried about accomplishing something, or getting anywhere on time.

Reality certainly is affected by dreams, too. When you wake up from a dream, you remember a glimpse of how things were. You can see what is really important. Dreams remind us of how we truly feel. For a moment, your eyes turn inside out. At night sometimes, in the occasional dreams I have of the Doctor, she acts extremely differently towards me. She holds my hand; she never worries about the time; she even looks me in the eyes. I can’t understand why the Doctor does not act this way when I am awake.

Dreams and reality do fold into one another. It’s becoming impossible to separate them, I’m afraid. As I wake up, I can still feel something pulling me back to the world of dreams. Reality, along with the Doctor (the waking Doctor), push me forward. Perhaps, there is a way in which the two worlds can come together again. As I write this, Reader, I am no longer sure. I just don’t know what to do.

The Dreamer kissed the pool of Echo, but she was no longer there. The sun fell, and the stars, newborn in the sky, came out to comfort him. For the first time, a heavy sleep filled his head.

That must be how the world as we know it started. That explains where the dreams went. That explains why we’re still left with this makeshift invention of sleep. It does not explain, however, why the Doctor in my dreams is so different from the one I see at the hospital. Yet all the while, it is the Doctor who insists that I have changed.

As much as I can piece together these answers, the Doctor just won’t believe. Really, the only reason I think about the past is in order to explain things in a way that she can understand. Still, I realize I can’t know anything for sure. My eyes are so used to focusing on the present, they become a little blurry looking at the past.

To be quite frank, it’s no matter what forgettings I tell her anyway. The future is what most worries the Doctor. She turns away from me and looks at her calendar. There are so many days left to cross out that she can’t help but frown. So I tell her with a smile (so that she can be sure), "Don’t worry. I know the future is happy, because the story of a world that starts off sadly can only end happily."

The Doctor smiles back at me, though it is one of those erasable smiles that I have trouble identifying. Perhaps she is nervous, or maybe she doesn’t want to speak. The Doctor draws a red "X" on her calendar to finish off the day. She has nothing more to say.

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© 2002 by b.z.