Dream Forge

Dream Forge.

The conveyor belt slides ever onward into eternity, bearing upon it the essence of humanity, carrying the prerequisite of sentience. Some were huge, some were tiny, and others filled galaxies, universes... The surface of each sphere shimmers iridescent under the soft moonlight. Otherworldly glows line the belt, tirelessly repairing and extending the pathway, but never ever daring to lay a finger on the ethereal orbs. They exist to create the bridge, to shape circumstance, transforming nothingness into something, an endless void into existence and experience.

At the very start, the requirements of each dream is methodically laid out, materials carefully sourced, measured, and set apart. The astronauts require luminous moon dust, golden star crystals that sparkle even in the darkest nights, and dark matter, as well as millions of other exotic items. Each is measured out in precise quantities, mixed according to a strict timetable and encased in a protective, lustrous coating. The artists, wordsmiths and soundsmiths all require their own special blend of materials as well, their own inspirational source. A scrap of paint from a riotous modern art painting, a flowing lock of hair from the decaying head of Shakespeare, a vinyl record of the Beatles, are all minute but essential. The dreams of soldiers and warriors demand the pulsating heart of a lion, and a fragment of Excalibur for a knight, or a piece of Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi for a samurai. These seemingly inconsequential materials are integral for the dream to exist, required to ensure that every dream was different, unique, and that each could be claimed by you and you alone.

Many mistake the process to be finished, but in reality, it is just beginning. For we have no control over what our dreams are made of, but are the master’s of their fate once they slide unto the conveyer belt of life. As the dull grey strip narrows, the number of days hours minutes and seconds constrained, we let some spheres fall right off, while keeping others at the centre of our focus. The occasional, or perhaps frequent bumps dislodge more of them, sending them plummeting forever downwards into the dark void. Some extremely lucky spheres tumble, only to land on the same belt, which has mysteriously curved under itself and continues ever forward.

Finally, as eyes dim and breathe becomes shallow, the end is in sight. Few would have survived the long, arduous journey, and those remaining would bear marks of triumph, ugly gashes along their pristine surfaces. But these are shells, to be discarded once the necessity of their protective function ceases. As you fold your hands and close your eyes, the dreams which you kept alive and achieved, those which you saw through to the very end, will burst forth from their mortal shells and extend their resplendent wings. They will soar high above into the azure sky, watching over you as the final tide of darkness washes you away into the ocean of eternity.

End.