All is Well (12-11-2017)

People lose the ability to dream if they have committed a murder. And you are desperate to end your constant nightmares...[Link to post.]

Tuesday. No one expects much on Tuesdays, but this particular Tuesday was a big day for me.
Tuesday, today, I get to commit murder. At least that’s how I’ve been looking at it. At night,
my dreams are only despair and horror. To keep my sanity I’ve been forcing myself to stay
positive during my waking hours. I fought to stay off the easy path, to keep my humanity.
Everyone knows murderers don’t dream.

As far as I can remember, my only dreams have been nightmares. My parents even offered
to take the blame if I murdered someone, but I never took them up on it. I stayed strong
as long as they lived. Now with them gone, I finally broke. I heard something on the news
about some child molester getting away scot-free. Why should people like that be allowed
to sleep at night when I can’t? I’ll do the world a favor.

It’s the perfect crime, because I’m not even planning to get away with it. I’ll be sleeping in a
jail cell, but I’ll be sleeping. Do the crime, sit and wait to do my time. No fuss, no muss.

When the police rolled up, flashing blue and red lights illuminated me. I sat on his whale-like
corpse holding my empty hands in the air, with a smile on my face. They burst out of their
cars and started yelling orders at me. Idiots couldn’t coordinate, and yelled different things
at me. I picked the guy who looked like he knew what he was doing and followed his orders.

That night I thanked God for small miracles. I didn’t have to share my cell with anyone. I climbed
into the bunk, then sighed to let myself drift off to sleep. And I didn’t dream! The next morning
was the best morning I’d ever had. Colors seemed brighter, the sun felt warmer. Prison was
amazing for about three months.

Then one night I had a nightmare. The worst one I’d ever had. It felt like all my nightmares
piled up into one. The next night I had two nightmares. The next night I was back to nightmares
all night, but each one was as bad as the first.

I made some friends during the three months. I finally asked some of the murderers if it
was temporary, but they all seemed surprised. Their dreams had stopped entirely, permanently.
One of my friends directed me to an older inmate. I’d heard of him, the rest of the population
treated him as a sort of respected elder.

“You’re here because you wanted to stop your nightmares?” The silver haired inmate asked me.
I nodded. “And they did stop, but they came back worse than before?” He stared into my eyes.
I nodded. “Easy. You’re fucked. Don’t make it worse.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. I added him as the first entry to my kill list.
I figured I would need a list if it was going to be a temporary thing.

“Murderers don’t dream, right?” He asked while he sat on the table stool.

“Yeah, that’s generally the case, but what’s wrong with me?” He shook his head.

“You’re special. Did you ever think about where all those dreams the murderers aren’t having, go?”
He asked me.

“No? I didn’t think there was anywhere for them to go. I thought they just didn’t happen.”
The old man shook his head.

“The dreamplane flows like water through our consciousness. When a person kills, the dreams
that would have flowed to them are redirected. Into you. You’re a dreamwell that collects psychic overflow.
The only way to live with it is to go somewhere you can be without people around.” He said.

“Then I won’t live with it.” I said quickly. I jammed a shank into my neck and smiled at him.

“You idiot. You just made it worse.” The old man’s words were the last thing I heard before
everything went black. Then I heard voices.

“Hey we got a new dreamwell!” a raspy voice said on my right. I felt a touch on my arm, it felt like a lighter flame.