It Happens Every Night by Jack Dickens HONO R AB LE M E NT IO N As I drift off to sleep, I hear a voice. “I must be dreaming,” I think. The voice starts softly, and then gets louder and louder. “Wake up, oh great prophet! Show us your wisdom,” it whispers to me. It’s strange. Most of the time, dreams have to do with what happened in real life.This morning, I hadn’t been woken by someone. Rather, I was woken by something. My alarm clock went off like it always does! As the dream becomes clear, I see an old man sitting in front of me. He seems to be some sort of priest. Is he worshipping me? “Where am I?” I ask. “You’ll remember in a few minutes. You do every night.” Every night? What is he talking about? I don’t remember any dreams like this…or maybe…Yes, I seem to remember something like this before, multiple times actually. Strange. “Who are you?” I ask. “I am your servant,Your Majesty. I am here to do as you say.” What am I? A ruler? A god? Well, he had said I was a prophet. What does that mean? “I must go now,” he says. “I am needed elsewhere.To wake the others.” The others? Who else is here? “Excuse me! Can you explain to me—” I start to say. Suddenly, he vanishes. I am alone. “What’s going on here?” I think, “What is this alternate realm?” Then, little by little, pieces of the puzzle come into my mind. About 10 minutes in, I seem to remember the “others.” We seem to have been discussing our different versions of “real life.” Is that it? Is real life…fake? About 30 minutes in, I remember the old man waking me up every morning. I generally ask the same questions every day, and every day he leaves me to figure it out on my own. Why couldn’t he just explain it? About an hour later, he comes back briefly. “Your breakfast has arrived.” I didn’t realize until now how hungry I am. “Excuse me,” I say, hoping that he heard me. “Yes, your highness?” “Why did you leave me without answering my questions? You obviously know I’m confused.” He stops and thinks for a moment. Then he whispers, “Because to tell you the whole story at once would break your heart. We must give it time to heal before the next piece of the puzzle is revealed.” “What puzzle?” I quickly ask, but it’s too late. He is gone. Every two hours or so, I remember a part of who I am. Two and a half hours after I woke up, (or fell asleep, whichever the case may be), I remember that “real life” is not what I think. But I can’t seem to understand why. About four hours and fifteen minutes in, I remember something horrible. I remember that “real life” isn’t real. I start to panic! “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” I scream. No one hears me. I am alone. I start to feel sick. The man was right. I need some time to heal. The next thought, however, comes sooner than I had hoped. I had been almost hoping not to find out the full mystery, but now it is obvious.
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