Trouble In Dreamland


The dreamers twitched nervously in their sleep.

I watch them breath.

Some are breathing too lightly for a good sleep. Something must be tormenting them. They are tossing and turning in their hospital beds.

My job, as the guardian of Sleep Land, was to protect sleepers from bad dreams. Nightmares could kill. I’m not sure how I got this job, or mission if you will, but I feel great satisfaction watching people wake up from a long sleep, rested and happy.

I don’t think many people would want my job. It does get stressful, and I’ve seen some horrendous things. But it was never my choice to become a guardian. That’s because I’m always sleeping. Been in a coma now for eight years.

I don’t know what will happen if I ever wake up. I quit thinking about it years ago. I’m comfortable with my routine at the hospital, checking in on patients all night. The hospital holds 200 patients. I manage to stop in on all of them before dawn arrives.

When I sense a patient is experiencing something unpleasant, I step into their dream to see what I can do to make it better. Usually, I end up dealing with small annoyances that flee when they see me.

There have been exceptions. I’ve dealt with nine full-on nightmares in eight years. Each time it becomes more exhausting, and I sense my body weakening.

Make no mistake. A nightmare is a powerful thing. It can even make people do evil things after they wake up. That was the case of four of the nightmares I confronted. Each patient woke up with murder in their eyes.

Luckily, none of the four were able to carry out their desire to kill someone. They all ended up in an insane asylums. The remaining five nightmares, were defeated in Sleep Land and they never made it to the patient’s consciousness.

I’m feeling a bit odd today. Normally, I don’t let my mind wander around the hospital during the day because it’s too stressful watching life-and-death situations. That’s when I spotted him! A nightmare in the making.

He was there to get surgery on his knee. An armed correctional officer accompanied him. The prisoner had facial scars from countless fights in the day yard. The guard, Eli Benson, had to stay with him (with the exception of the operating room) every moment until he was released by another guard taking his place.

The knee replacement surgery took place shortly after Benson and his prisoner, Hans Hartmann, arrived. Still asleep after surgery, Hartmann was taken to a special room that only had a hospital bed, and one chair in it. Benson took his place on the chair.

When I saw Hartmann’s nightmare a few hours later I knew what was going to happen.

As night descended, I prepared myself. I saw enough. Hartmann was going to kill the correctional officer, a nurse, an old woman there to visit her sick sister, and one highway patrolman outside the hospital as he was getting away.

I had to stop the nightmare from stepping into the daylight.

The nurse who was monitoring my vitals was startled. I was waking up! She called for the doctor on duty, and ran to my room. The bright light blinded me for minutes. I kept blinking, trying to focus my eyes. I felt a sense of urgency.

When the doctor came he was all smiles, and told me he’d contacted my sister about my miraculous recovery. For the next two hours, nurses unplugged me from monitors and took the feeding tube out of my throat.

When I was finally free of all the life-saving equipment I was able to talk. My voice was raspy and words were difficult to form. I was able to get the attention of the last nurse before she left.

She was in her forties and knew her way around the hospital and how to work with patients. I asked her to do me a big favor. Of course she agreed right away. I asked her to get a security guard and to go check on the room with the prisoner who had knee surgery yesterday.

She looked at me like I was crazy. I couldn’t blame her. I told her that I had a terrible dream and would really appreciate it if she would check on the prisoner. I could see the doubt in her eye, but my sudden awakening had an impact on her.

She said she would. I waited impatiently, wondering if it was too late. It seemed like eternity before she returned. There was awe in her eyes. The prisoner was caught fighting with the correctional officer. With the help of the security guard, Hartmann was overcome.

I’m waiting for my sister right now. Something bothers me though. Who will take my place, and be the guardian of Sleep Land after I’m gone? I was in the lobby when I saw my sister, and something else. My replacement.

A small group of family members were crying as a doctor told them their daughter was in a coma, and he wasn’t sure if she would ever come out of it.

As It Stands, the idea of being in a coma has always fascinated me, but I’m in no hurry to lapse into one and find out what happens next.

A Day At The Operating Table


Here’s a very short story for medical types and conspiracy theorists…

Dr. Riley Rhon and Dr. Ernie Urst watched the first patient of the day come down the assembly line, prepped, and ready for surgery.

The paperwork in the file next to the first patient, a sleeping young man, called for a half-brain removal and replacement with a synthetic digital brain that mimicked the functions of the part it was replacing.

The team of Dr. Rhon and Dr. Urst was one of a dozen in the large treatment facility known as Metro-Medical Services, Inc. All a person needed was money. Lot’s of it. Then anything was possible. But that wasn’t a problem, as they served rich clients from all over the world.

What was left of it.

After sixteen more partial brain-removals it was time for lunch. Both doctors were ravenous.

The last half of the day was spent on replacing other body parts like hearts, limbs, eyes livers, pancreas, kidneys, spleens, gall bladders, colons, lungs, bladders, rectums, anuses, and large and small intestines.

As the work shift came to an end Dr. Urst asked Dr. Rhon why people willingly gave up body parts, even when they were alive?

As they walked to the locker room to change, Dr. Erst looked out the clear plastic panels that separated them from rows of naked desperate-looking people of all ages and races in lines.

“Are you really asking me a question when you already know the answer?” Dr. Rhon asked, as he peeled his operating scrubs off and tossed them into a nearby waste container.

“I know they’re hungry and jobs are few, but how did we get here? To this place in America where people are forced to die a slow death while fighting to survive?” Dr. Urst ruminated.

“I’m not much on history, but I suspect it probably happened sometime during the 21st century.” guessed Dr. Rhon as he slipped his right shoe on.

“As you know, there was massive changes after WW III. Dead zones that will last for eternity. Those that lived through the terrible times were wealthy people from all over the world who’d been hiding in deep concrete reinforced bunkers, or tunnels miles under the ground.” 

“And those people we passed in the corridor, the ones in lines, are the poor who somehow survived this far.”  Dr. Ernst observed, a note of sadness in his voice.

“Do you realize how lucky we are not to have to worry about surviving on a daily basis?” he suddenly asked.

“All things considered, I do. The idea of being a vulnerable human doesn’t appeal to me at all. As the first-bots use to say, ‘It does not compute!'”  Dr. Rhon agreed.

As It Stands, this is my brief nod to the apocalyptic genre that seems so popular these days.


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