Dream Catcher

It was an early afternoon, probably more like the late morning, when he realized that he had taken a wrong turn from the path he was on; several years back he’d imagine. He thought he was in a dream that was somewhat surreal, everything clear as day, yet moments of unclarity and distortion seemed to make the days more evident that it had to be a dream. Something wasn’t right about this dream though, it was more uncomfortable then REM under restless nights. He felt more helpless in this dream than the ones he recalls awaking from in sudden fear.
Was it a dream on top of a dream? He heard of them before but he had never, himself, experienced one. This is what it must be like to be trapped in your dreams, he thought. While wondering how long he had been stuck in this comatose state, he felt as though the dream was becoming a nightmare; and knowing how nightmares end; waking one with horrific feelings. He wondered how he might feel when awaking from this one.
He never recalled dreaming an everyday life, one that seemed to go on an on; full of events an everyday person deals with and goes about doing: working, commuting, and paying bills. These things are troublesome enough in reality, let alone to be tormented with in his nights attempting to sleep the long days away, he thought. This dream has results, outcomes, feelings that were emotional and physical. Something is wrong, he thought. And why was he thinking when his mind was supposed to be shutting down from thought process and defragging the day that passed?  He thought about the dream catcher that used to hang in his bedroom when he was a child. It wasn’t his, but his sister’s. He thought it was cool, a couple of feathers hanging from it, spider-web type pattern in the center, some beads and what not. He started wondering what all the little icons and all that were on it meant, the purpose of compilation and style to it. He started to wonder if these dream catcher were crafted for more than décor purpose. Maybe that dream catcher has been collecting more than his thoughts while asleep, but also whenever he was about it: the songs he strummed on his guitar, the poems he had written, the conversations and events that took place in that room. It probably had more memories of him than he had of himself, creating a life for him, rearranging his thoughts and events that took place and elaborating on them with drastic fabrication.
But it couldn’t be right; it wasn’t there with him when he was out and about, away from the house and the catcher. What about when he had moved out of state, was in the military, before it came into his sister’s possession?  There is no way it could have captured such a record of him and if it did, it couldn’t be accurate. Unless, he thought, unless once it captured his dreams and events, while in his midst, it imprinted his biological makeup and became a part of his existence. That had to be it! That explains the insanity of it all, his dreams were evolving into a state of being of it’s own. Within the shell of his body and mind, came a new stage of his existence. “How crazy are these thoughts?” he thought. Now things, though they were making a lot of sense, as though it were a reality, were back to normal, normal for how dreams may be considered.
For the first time he started feeling in control of this dream; he sighed, felt at ease and smiled like a kid in the candy store. He stopped feeling the pressure of the “everyday life” dream that was causing him panic; panic in sleep, he thought, that isn’t normal. It had to be a dream for the fact that he started believing a dream catcher can make an imprint in his thought pattern and become a part of his biological makeup! To panic in one’s sleep when you are supposed to be at rest! He laughed out loud; “nonsense”, he shouted! ::pinch:: “Quit daydreaming moron, his sister snickered as she walked by with a look of satisfaction for inflicting pain on her unexpected brother. He rubbed his arm and realized, “I’ve been woken up to the realization that I’ve been awake the whole time. There was no waking up to a new day with a new beginning; the turn he took was in fact, a wrong turn and a long time ago. He hadn’t found the path to the right one because he wasn’t living looking for it. He was dreaming, he realized, daydreaming of a life that was avoidable and changeable, a life that was depressing and hopeless. He daydreamed he was someone else, somewhere else and sooner or later he was going to get there. Yet, he never took the steps needed to get there. He went to his room, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep; hoping he might dream a dream that he can control; one with a better outcome over some better sleep.