The Ongoing Picture Challenge

Queen of Dreams

I live and control the realm of chilled feet and heavy blankets; of silk pajamas and pillow cases; of closed eyelids and deep breathing; of drool and snores; of annoying alarm clocks and serene silence; of dreams; and all because I am the queen. The ever powerful Queen of Dreams.

I control who and what you dream of, when you dream, whether or not you’ll remember them when you wake up, or most importantly: pleasant or nightmares. I can be the best woman ever, or your worst enemy controlling your fears. I know you, every single one of you. I know what you love, what your ambitions are, what chills you, what makes you tick. You don’t know me though, no one knows me. No one believes in me, the few who have heard my name mentioned before. I used to be mortal, I used to be a wife and a mother, but I was blessed with only a short time on Earth, and now I am stuck as simply the Queen of Dreams.

Most people confuse me with that dreaded Sand Man. I mean, honestly, do I look like some tiny little man who creeps into your room at night and sprinkles magical dust on you to make you sleep? Oh, please! I don’t make you sleep; I just control what happens after you do fall into slumber.

Of course, I’m not always in utter complete control…especially against those horrid lucid dreamers.  Really, what is your obsession with controlling your dreams? Isn’t it supposed to be a wonder what happens, and that’s what makes them so amazing? I have to fight against you twerps, trying to control what is in my job description.

No one has seen me in my immortal form, except one. Honestly, I am present in every dream, in some way, shape, or form. Whether I’m a star in the sky, a thought in your head, a cloud floating by, a blur, a plant, or the scenery; I am there. I could also be the face of your nightmare’s greatest monster snarling at you, or maybe I’m your crush holding your hand. You can guarantee I will be in every dream at once, controlling it all and overseeing things go smoothly. However, you won’t know it’s me. How could you? No one believes I exist anyways; dreams are just a hazy mysterious idea. One boy though, just one, recognized me.

The last thing I noticed before slipping inside his dream was a small ten year old brunette boy resting on a plain blue bed. His shaggy chocolaty brown hair splayed across the pale cerulean pillow case, matching blue sheets tucked up underneath his chin. Closed marble eyelids blanketed with long eyelashes touched his rosy cheeks. A nightlight shown in the distance, and then I was in his dream. I always got a glimpse of whose dream I was in before I started to control it. I was going inside his mind. I knew everything about him, his name was Carter Callaway, and he had a great fear of spiders, and an intense urge to control dreams.

Because I knew this, I came prepared to fight. Currently, I was in about a quarter of the World’s dreams.  I pushed controlling those into my subconscious, as I put my full attention on this little boy who I knew would put up a fight. It started off well, as it always seemed to.

In his dream, Carter was wondering through a narrow dirt trail that wound through a dense green forest. It was night, and a million stars dotted the sky that hung as a ceiling above him. I used my powers to construct little sensory details, so he could feel the biting cold night air, and the buzzing of flies and nocturnal animals screeching in a symphony. I drew him in closer, so the trees were enveloping him with a vengeance, bringing him closer and closer to his nightmare.

Unfortunately, this is where the boy’s extensive knowledge of how to control his own dreams kicked in. He was becoming awake within his dream, becoming aware that he was, in fact, in a dream. I felt my control straining, being pulled from me, but I grasped on strong, trying as best I could to maintain all control.

I knew I didn’t have long to use the full extent of my powers, so I tried to bring him closer to the nucleus of his own dream. I was trying to bring him to the strongest most frightful time, before he could prevent it. Carter’s legs moved stiffly and mechanically, as though he was a robot swimming through molasses. I drug him forward, focusing on solely building his paranoia and dragging him through the forest. Step by step he went, and I smiled as I noticed his eyes grow wide as saucers and his mouth fall open, for I had designed this dream articulately with spiders in mind. Now, he was on the edge of a spider’s web.

The strain I felt against me no longer tugged as hard, it was more like a dull tapping now, as Carter stood petrified. The large web was connected in a semi-circle to large sturdy trees, and crawling on those trees were millions of tarantulas, slithering their toxic way around. I cackled as Carter’s eyes roved pointedly from spider to spider, trying to decide what was happening. I knew that in the time he had let go control that he most likely forgot this was even a dream. His mouth grew in an attempt to scream, but I silenced it. It was time for him to see my role in the dream, whether he knew it or not.

Sliding from the top of the nearest tree, I took on the form of the largest eight legged creature any one could imagine. I morphed into a furry brown and orange tarantula the size of a football field. I made sure the ground shook as each one of my creepy legs crawled towards Carter. My eight glassy eyes grinned back at Carter’s washed out fearful demeanor.

I made a mistake. I did something so utterly stupid. I spoke unintentionally. The problem was, I was speaking as a tarantula, which pinged in Carter’s brain as unrealistic, and he began to realize this was a dream again. This time Carter grinned back at me, and I felt an urgent tug so strong and unpredicted that I lost complete control over the dream. Because of Carter’s strong willed mind, this caused my tarantula exterior to vanish, and I was returned to my original form.

A small puddle was by my right foot, and I looked down at its flat surface to see what I looked like now. My true form gazed back at me. Two identical perfectly circular rosy dots were marked onto my cheeks, and across my silky pure forehead rested my jeweled tiara that proved I was of some royalty. Thick straps rested across my shoulders that held up my multicolored dress constructed of international silks and designs. In my right hand, I clutched The Dream Seeker, an orb I used that held every piece of information any one could want to know. It was the information I needed to construct the dreams needed in each person’s life. Hanging across my slender, bony body was my Spirit Stick and Dream Map. The Spirit Stick contained all my powers, so as long as I had it I would be safe. The Dream Map simply showed who was about to fall asleep and where in the world and allowed me to navigate easily.

Looking away from the puddle to meet Carter’s gaze, I calculated what needed to be done. I was under his control, but maybe I could escape before something unthinkable happened. I was boiling with anger. I could feel frustration fuming through my veins like wild fire, but I was no longer in control. I couldn’t even react, and apparently neither could Carter. He stared at me just as scared as he was in the face of a spider one hundred times my size.

“Reginadei Sogni,” he breathed out, which was “Queen of Dreams” in Italian, Carter’s second language. I smiled in spite of myself, someone did know me. Someone had heard. He stared for a while, probably sizing me up. “Sisono reali?” You are real? he asked.

I could only manage a weak nod, as I felt myself growing wearier under someone else’s control. I had never been in a situation like this, and I had no spec of an idea as to how to get out of it. I felt as though a truck had hit me and broken all my bones. I watched idly as the boy turned away from me, controlling and transforming his dream exactly how he wanted it. The trees fell away, revealing a clear blackened sky with a million little diamonds of star light. The spiders had disappeared, and then Carter flushed away the ground, revealing clouds. Within seconds, I felt my powers rushing back into me and I grew more empowered. I was in my home, in Mystic Fog, the name of the cloud I inhabited when I wanted to take a break from actively skipping through dreams.

“Carter, what are you doing?” I turned to him and hissed, not meaning to sound as toxic as I did. “How do you know about this?”

The boy merely shrugged, before I heard a shrill beeping that surrounded us all. His alarm was blaring, signaling it was time to go. He left, but not before reaching forward to squeeze my hand, as he waved good-bye, and I was left alone in Mystic Fog.