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Sunday, December 6, 2015

Sandman: Love Is A Dream - Chapter 9

Is that the alarm? No… just five more minutes, mommy.

Today's introductory song is Gemini Dream by The Moody Blues. Sandman is created by Neil Gaiman and published by the Vertigo line of DC Comics.

Dream, aka Morpheus (and Oneiros, the Shaper, the Shaper of Form, Lord of the Dreaming, the Dream King, Dream-Sneak, the Cat of Dreams, Murphy, Kai'ckul and Lord L'Zoril,) rules over the world of dreams. He is one of the seven Endless: Dream, Destiny, Death, Desire, Delirium (formerly Delight, but is now two in one), and Destruction.

After being captured and held prisoner for 70 years, Dream is now back in business, rebuilding his kingdom... but there is still much he doesn't know about the power vacuum that occurred in his absence. He has been around for billions of years, but still does not know all that much about humans, as he has, in the past merely acted as King... a king unaware of what his subjects and realm requires outside of the basics.

This is just fan fiction I wrote in 1992 in Japan… which is why it's in a blog about Japan… except nothing else about the story is about Japan.

However… Japan… and my foibles with women there… they were the inspiration for this waking nightmare.

I don't blame the women, mind you, but in my mind… at that time… they were often the reason my mind wasn't always in a good place.

I think the same holds true now, so perhaps I was not mistaken about my sleep imagery.


LOVE IS A DREAM
by andrew joseph

CHAPTER NINE
"There's a place - a Gemini dream,
There's no escaping from the love we have seen.
So come with me, turn night to day.
You're gonna wake up,
You know you're gonna wake up in a Gemini dream."

Satan sits on a plush executive chair in his office and shivers. The single grain of the stuff dreams are made of lies unobtrusively near the screaming ink blotter and the iguana playing with a calculator upon the desk.

"Dreams are like paper. They tear so easily," mutters the Prince of Lies.

From outside the office, Satan hears a terrible squawking. The cactus comes to life screaming, "A Mr. Dream to see..."

Before the message is finished, the office doors are exploded inwards. A rush of foul air escapes the room as the King of Dreams floats quickly past the strangulated form of the secretary heaped on the now thread-bare carpet.

"Showing off, are we Sleepy Head?" leers Satan.

"I would as soon dispense with your games, Foul One! She mentioned a black bird leading her to the Dreamworld," seethes Morpheus.

"Who in the hell are you talking of?! I'm not a mind reader, you know - no wait a minute... I am a mind reader!" laughs Hell's chief.

"You know very well of whom I am speaking. What do you know of this most serious breach of protocol?"

"Nothing. Perhaps your damned Raven was expanding his resume."

"No. His duties are only to escort dreamers who are already within my realm. None need his guidance to find MY world."

"Don't blame me if he can't follow orders," taunts Satan.

"He has always performed his duties admirably."

"What are you trying to say through that ridiculous spaghetti headgear? I can barely make out what you are saying," asks Satan with a fair bit of indigence.

"Only that I have some unfinished business elsewhere as I am sure you are already aware. We will talk again soon." Morpheus then turns and floats out of the room without heeding Satan's bellows of rage.

Pausing outside Satan's office, Morpheus concentrates the power of his ruby amulet into a fiery crimson beam. The walls of Satan's building melt away to reveal the outside. After he steps through, the walls converge back in upon itself leaving no mark of his passage.

Morpheus flies up into the odorous atmosphere and uses his helm to zone in on any of his dreamers lost in Hell's nightmare.

Grimacing with the pain of his efforts, he actually screams when he makes contact with a misplaced soul. He follows the scream in his head.

Down below him he sees his home - but it's not his home. He can sense the foul abomination of the mock dream world as he draws nearer.

Ringing the perimeter is a wrought iron fence with wave after wave of black swallows landing and taking off from the top. At the gateway, scores of shaken dreamers enter enveloped in their own separate aura hoping for the beneficial rewards of a dream that never comes.

Morpheus land with his amulet a-blazing. His ire quickly scatters the diabolical guides up into the nether. The mass of black disappears with a flash of dark light. A strange tropical scent wafts over the thick foul air.

The would-be dreamers look up at Morpheus and cry in panic. He draws his cloak across his own body. The dreamers vanish quietly.

Morpheus then strides towards the satanic dream gate and pushes it aside with nary a thought burst. Three strides in, he is confronted with himself.

Urkel, playing the part of the Dream King, holds his left hand out towards Morpheus and howls as an arc of cobalt blue shoots out. Enveloped in Urkel's Hellfire, Morpheus is jostled back a bit. He quickly regains his balance and concentrated from within. His anger at being usurped of his job causes his helm to counter-attack. The power emitted through the hose pipe and eye facets drives Urkel back into his foul tenement. It collapses down upon him. It reverts to a mass of dead and ugly wood and weed.

Urkel, too, has slipped back into his own misshapen form in his now unconscious state.

Having quickly vanquished his foe and repatriated his dreamers, Morpheus again rises high in the sky and disappears in the red mist.

The doors to Satan's office are blasted open, once more, by Morpheus. He strides purposefully in, puts his fists on the desk and stares in to the "shocked" face of his adversary.

"I have returned."

"Obviously," sulks Satan brushing a fallen lock from his forehead.

"I come for what is mine."

"There is nothing here of yours, Dreamer - Except this most accursed grain of sand. Why does it not work for me?" asks Satan pointing to the dream stuff not more than two centimetres to the right of Morpheus' left fist.

"Does the Evil One not like pleasant dreams?"

"Blast your petty hide!"

"You may keep this, if you wish," smiles Dream through his helm as he wags a finger at the grain. "After all... a deal is a deal."

"No, no. Let's not be hasty..."

"However, this is a moot point. What I have really come for is the mortal," says Dream.

"I have already told you, there are no mortals here. Only the Damned."

"Meridia is damned because of you, but she belongs to me."

"No! She is mine. My hold on her is correct. I have documents!"

"Spare me your deceit, Foul One. Our laws are unwritten, yet are known to all for whom it matters," says Dream. He picks his hands up from the desk, rears up to his full height and removes his helm and places it between the crook of his left arm and his body. "Your claim on her is invalid. Despite the fact that she killed herself, which is a crime against life, she died in the Dream. Meridia belongs to me."

"But..."

The look on Morpheus' face is enough even to halt the prevarications of the original sinner. Dream's eyes twinkle with power. "You interfered with her dreams. That is NOT allowed."

Satan's face is drawn tight as he walks to the bookcase beside the cactus and pulls a freshly materialized tome from the third shelf. He puffs away a millennium or two's worth of dust and randomly opens the book. His gaze is still riveted to Dream's eyes. He quickly snaps the book shut and throws it at the three-headed dog that is still licking himself. It yelps in shock and then goes back to its eternal task.

"Very well. It appears you are correct after all. Here she is..." says Satan as the human form of Meridia appears beside the cactus. Meridia looks like the ravaged burnt-out soul that killed herself in the Dream.

Morpheus blinks.

Meridia is once more the spunky, flame-haired woman she was when she first began to stir Morpheus' emotions.

Morpheus holds his arm out to her. She quickly runs her naked form over to him. He draws her body closer and smothers her within his cloak. He says nothing.

After a moment, he reverts his attention to Satan. "If you dare to tamper with my affairs again, I will shower your world with my dream dust. You wouldn't care for that, would you?" he says with a hint of a smirk on his face.

"You can't! It's against the laws!" whines Evil as another book appears in his hand.

Morpheus says nothing, though his face breaks out into a dark smile.

"Can I go home now?" asks Meridia.

"No," says Morpheus as they walk through the melted walls of Satan's office.

Satan throws the very same and just materialized back book at the dog who licks it once, and then goes back to work on itself. The Prince of Lies slumps back into his chair and locks his fingers under his chin. He eyes the grain of dream sand and sighs.

-30-

Image above... I just love how the word 'torture' is spelled incorrectly. I could go for a life of enslavement as long as I was tor-touring the world... or would it be the underworld... hmm...

Urkel's battle with Morpheus is no contest whatsoever. How could it be? 

When Urkel confronts Morpheus, he shoots out his left hand. In Latin, sinister meant 'left'… and because those born left-handed were considered to have the pull of the Devil upon them, being left-handed meant they were sinister. Not that it matters, but I'm not left-handed.

The battle with Satan could be a drawn-out war with all of Dream and Hell shuddering... that's what one would expect in a comic book... but Sandman was more cerebral... so quoting bylaws would be more akin to Morpheus' style.

It makes you wonder why you like the character... but really, it's everyone else about him that makes the book what it is. That and the dreams and nightmares.

As for Satan and his mote of Dream dust? For the most evil entity in the Universe, good dreams would hurt… wouldn't they? It's Satan's punishment to not be able to enjoy nice things. I'm assuming that… I wrote this 23 years ago and didn't leave myself any notes. But I would assume it was for this reason. Besides… you know that one entity can never truly harm another entity without dire cosmic consequences… so petty comeuppance would have to suffice.

Also... if the laws of the supernatural are unwritten, why would Satan have to check a book? Just for show. Evil is always about the show.

Last part of the story tomorrow....

You can't go home again,
Andrew Joseph
I just found the image on Google...I think it was on Pintrest, so who knows where it was originally from.

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