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Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Sandman: Renewal

Here's the second of three short stories on dreams that I wrote while in Japan... it features Morpheus (Sandman), a chatacrter created by Neil Gaiman for DC Comics (and later its mature line of Vertigo).

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.
Dispensing here with the classic form of Morpheus, the king of dreams, I wondered if he was the one who held sway of the dreamworld for those all over the universe. Of course he does. Earth is special, but so is life on every other plane of existence throughout known and even unknown space.

mid-wifed by andrew joseph

The colours swirl all around me, wafting their sweet smells to the far reaches of the universe. Congealing, everything is quiet. But only for an instant. The chaos of creation begins anew. Change is ever the rampant issue in the one true domain.

Gases whoosh and jet, expelled from what some mistakenly call the surface. In a gaseous state, there is no surface. Growth has begun. The colours begin to change. A heaviness similar to 100 astronomical units pulls heavily at my sister's cold heart. The death of what was and shall never again be is imminent. Though not for some time. A paradox to be sure.

The clock of the universe runs according to its own time. Though it is ordered, it does acquiesce to its own rules when the need fits.

Quickly, relative to its life, it glows. Sudden flashes of light pierce the cold, quiet darkness and incinerate the life-forms on the fourth planet that have taken scant millennia to develop. Flaring, and changing, its insides convert and subvert the periodic table. New elements are formed and combined. The core has shifted. The colour of the pristine rose rears its ugly face. The orb grows in quiet splendour. Engulfing the floating rocks. One, two, three, four, five. All gone, though in truth they were not alive before that for quite some time.

In mute nostril agony, the middle changes again. The colour of mercury pulses from within. Even still, it's heat diminishes. Planets sigh relief. Those that still can. Their unfelt joy is short-lived, though. It was merely resting for an eon or two.

Fire and gas. Nuclear power uncaged. Mother always did have a temper.

The explosion rips yet another hole in time and space. The solar mass shrinks and yet manages to contain all of its mass. Density warps the continuum. It begins to spin. Very, very quickly. None save my family have noticed the change. None currently upon this plane of reality, anyways.

The whirlpool begins to reach out and suck in sustenance. She needs to feed. She is not hungry, though it is something she must do. Duty. Elsewhere, an equal amount of matter, though in a different form will emerge a universe away. Holes of colour. Holes without.

My job in this solar area is done for the moment. No more dream for the inhabitants of the fourth world. No one mourns for them, save perhaps my sister, Death. It will be many an eon before I have to weave a dream out here again. But soon enough for one of the Endless.

Planets quietly rush about their orbits, like a wet finger upon fine crystal. The new form plays a concert for the gods who care to listen. The melody is stupefying. Truly myriad are the wonders of existence.

- 30 -

Okay, this one was a little different, but I was still experimenting with how to craft a story. It was the birth of a black hole, in case it was too confusing.

Tomorrow's dream will be different, I am told.

Sleep well,
Andrew Joseph


  1. Beautiful imagery. Also ... a reference to "Horse Latitudes"? Intriguing.

    1. I sit in mute nostril agony knowing you caught that reference. Who is more intriguing - the writer who borrows a line or the reader who realizes it?
      Damn... you're good.
      And... thanks.

    2. By the way... I had to re-read carefully to realize my line swipe. It's been a while... and in the early days (and even the latter early days of this blog) I was fascinated in finding parallels between my words and music (and lyrics).
      I still am, but I felt the need to change things up a bit.

  2. This birth of a black hole is so beautifully described and presented. I would call it poetic prose! if I were you, I'd definitely consider submiting this piece as a short story to a literary magazine.

    1. Thanks, Renae! To be honest, I've never thought about submitting anything. Suggestions?