Dream Police

I’ve been working this job for 20 years. I’ve saved so many lives and lost some too. The older a person is, the harder it is to save them. There is no such thing as dying peacefully in your sleep.

My official title is, “Reality Emergency Medical Officer” or R.E.M. for short. But we like to call ourselves “The Dream Police.” They say dreams are proof that we live in alternate realities, a window into another world, where something great or something awful can happen. But, what if I told you it wasn’t a window but a door? What if I told you it was a door you step through every night and walk freely around. Each night you don’t dream. You travel. I’ve traveled to so many worlds: worlds where you could fly, worlds where you were royalty, worlds where you were a rock star on center stage. But I’ve also been in worlds where a monster with three heads chases you, where zombies bite and snap their teeth towards you, and where demons try to tear at your skin, down to your soul.

Now, for most people, they just wake up and think these are dreams, but they're wrong. Our dreams are alternate realities we step into every night. Our job is to make you believe these dreams aren’t true, that you really can’t get hurt in your dream. When you fall off a high rise, you wake up before impact, breathing erratically and sweating profusely. That’s because of me. I caught you before you could fall, and jump-started your adrenaline. I pushed you out of the way of that monster and took its claws for you. In reality though, if you die in a dream, there is no waking up. There is no scary story to tell your coworkers and friends the next day. You die.

You know how you have a dream and you see a bunch of faces you’ve never seen before, and then you see them the next day or the next week or so, that’s us patrolling you. We’re making sure nothing came back through your dream door. We’re keeping the balance between the worlds.

When you are a dream cop you never dream. We’re given a special formula to keep us from dreaming. This is our life. We get our assignments, get hooked up to the “Dream Machine” and off we go to rescue some poor schmo from getting killed, we monitor them for a couple of days, and then we´re off to another assignment. Sleep, eat, work, rinse, lather, and, repeat. 20 years of no dreaming, 20 years of fighting demon creatures, 20 years of saving people.

Today is just another day. I sat in the leather-bound chair of the “Dream Machine.”

“Got a good one for you 2.2.5.” 1.0.4 said as he handed me the manila file with tonight’s assignment. To keep things from getting too personal, the administration gives us numbers instead of names. I’ve been here so long I forget my actual name. I think it's James or Jack or something. I can’t even remember my last name. I open the manila file but the file only has a blank piece of paper.

“Hey, 1.0.4. this is blank. There’s no assignment.” I yelled out to 1.0.4, but by the time I had finished yelling I was already knocked out in the machine, my consciousness was distant from my body as I walked through the door into another world.

When I opened my eyes, there was a blinding light. As my eyes and senses came back, I could see I was in a hospital room. I could feel a long grizzly beard on my face, and my hair was down to my shoulders.

“Mr. Aurora, you’re awake.” A young pretty nurse dropped the lunch plate. “Oh my God. This is amazing! I’ll get the doctors right away.” The nurse said before running out the door. “Doctor! Doctor!” She yelled down the hall.

I looked to my left and saw on a bedside table a card with gold font that said, “Thank you.” I lifted my frail hand and opened it. Inside was a handwritten note, “Thank you for 20 years of service 2.2.5. Enjoy your life. Sweet Dreams.”

A doctor rushed in, sprinting to my bedside. “Mr. Aura! After 20 years, you’re finally awake.”