Dream Rain

Nameless dreams fell from the sky like mournful tears onto the darkened streets of Shanty Town. A group of peasants huddled together under a leaky roof, keeping themselves away from the graying drops and closer to a smoldering fire of damp logs and rotted furniture. Around the room sat all manner of containers from pots and bowls to cubs, each set in a strategic location to gather the spent grey dreams as they dripped and drizzled into the dirty hovel.

Outside, an old man cackled and cooed his eyes bright with color, his mind filled with the pieces of a thousand dreams, fragmented and broken against one another. He stretched out his arms and turned his face to the sky to catch as many of the falling dreams as he could. Then with a great booming laugh, he turned and lurched his way down another muddy alley.

He and those like him were the dreamers. They filled their minds with the falling dreams to ease the pain of the waking world only to end up broken and mad in the end.

Once there were great buildings to house and care for the dreamers and help them come back and live productive lives in the waking world. Then a great travesty occurred when the caretakers themselves sought the escape, the way from pain, found in the world of falling dreams. Now there were more dreamers than those who lived in the waking world and all the cities were shanty towns, vast in size and poor in spirit. Only those who could keep themselves from the falling dreams could keep themselves alive, whatever that meant anymore. In dreams one could escape from reality and live a peaceful life filled with success, happiness and bliss. In the waking world, one had to deal with the unfortunately realities of the way things were, things that needed to be done, occasionally suffering pain, rejection and failure.

Finally the rains stopped, at least for awhile, and the streets, houses and alleys were filled with the shrieks and moans of the dreamers, temporarily deprived of their falling sustenance.

In a tall bright tower, in a far off land, mighty wizards awoke from their dreams. The reason, they know of course, was that the dream rains had stopped again. The wizards gathered together in a frantic race to pull together the pieces of magic so they could recast the spell that caused the rain of dreams to fall from the sky.

In the cities, people started to adjust to their wakeful state and the unfortunately necessities that reality dictated. Long processions of people wound their way to the once magnificent fields and orchards to gather what food could be found. Others tended their homes, patched roofs and sold stale dream water to those who had money or supplies to barter with. A week went by and the shanty towns of the world became metropolises filled with industrious people working at a frantic pace.

Finally the long awaited signs came: Pastel colored clouds gathered while brilliant, multi-colored cars of lightening lit up the sky. Great cheers could be heard from cities around the world. Soon the rains would come again. Soon there would be blissful peace.

People quickly worked to complete their final preparations for the dreams that were to come: Wakers placed ops, pots, bowls, cups and other containers in strategic locations while dreamers set themselves in comfortable places where they could receive the best supply of dreams.

Shortly thereafter, a few hours at most, the dream rains came.

Nameless dreams fell from the sky like mournful tears onto the darkened streets of Shanty Town. Outside, an old man cackled and cooed his eyes bright with color, his mind filled with the pieces of a thousand dreams, fragmented and broken against one another. The dreams were warm and pleasant, filled with joy, humor and good deeds. With a great booming laugh, he stretched out his arms and turned his face to the sky to catch as many of the falling dreams as he could.