Wake Up

By Alejandro Marron

"I get the feeling I am not real," said Vlad.

"You are not. You are my dream."

 

Vlad is a graphic designer for an IT start-up company in Denver. One night, he has a dream that reveals to him that he is not real, and the individual he meets in this alternate dimension, his creator, takes Vlad on a voyage through the annals

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: May 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637528877

Book preview

What if this is all a dream? What if we are trapped in the dream of a higher brain function individual? What if what seems to us the passing of time is nothing more than the equivalent of a good night’s sleep for this higher brain function individual who has created us, all of us, as he or she sleeps? I know what you are thinking, simulation theory? Something like that.

Natural selection, bacteria, evolution, the Renaissance, Marcus Aurelius, WWI, and WWII, the gulag, all things we have learned in our history books: just a dream. Every-thing, the universe, the construct of our universe, the sun, atoms, and everything in between is nothing more than a dream. The Beatles and the pyramids, fanny packs, and the guillotine? And what if the other multiverses that are theorized are more dreams from other higher brain function individuals who will eventually wake up? And when they do indeed wake, will it be over? Thus, our existence is nothing more than dreams. And what if we knew we were nothing more than dreams? Would that change anything? Would we act any differently? Live differently? Be kinder perhaps? Or utterly and unequivocally not give a F*@k?

This is nothing more than an imaginary tale of characters and stories, deconstructed and fragmented pieces, a tapestry of deformed sensory shrapnel. Leftovers, in our subconscious, for us to pick at and muse over. Unoriginal and rehashed, for who hasn’t thought of such a thing? Do you ever spend hours as I do, trying to grasp how it is, that we came from nothing? From the void, from nothingness to this? To whatever this is? To know that our true nature is that of nonexistence is quite humbling. Do you ever question your validity?

I once met a man who shared with me that dreams are not dreams at all: they are real. I was about 9, and this man was sitting on a bench in a small town known as Chapala, Jalisco in Mexico. My cousin and I were speeding off like bandits, near the famous Lago Chapala on vacation when we came across him. He was staring into the distance, into the lake. We got off our bikes and slowly walked by him. I still remember his eyes as he spoke to us. We were not afraid but we were intrigued: his voice was soothing and familiar. As we were walking away he signaled to us; we stopped and turned around. We watched him slowly place his arms over his chest, take a deep breath, and in a soft voice heard him say Evsu, and then he collapsed. Evsu.

Wake Up

He woke and quickly sat up. He was covered in sweat and had trouble catching his breath. His heart was racing. He sat there, staring. What he was staring at I could not tell you. What I could say is that he was worried. He snapped out of his trance and looked for his phone.

There is no way I am going into work tomorrow he uttered.

Vlad composed an email, and even that was a venture. He over-analyzed everything he wrote. He must have read that simple message multiple times. He laughed, for he was troubled by his placement and use of a semicolon and found it absurd. He finally sent the email and struggled to get up and head to the kitchen to take a dosage of a pharmaceutical. He fumbled around his pantry and cabinet and found some medicated tea. He grabbed a glass of water, headed back to bed, and fell asleep. He awoke again: it was a dream that woke him, a very lucid dream.

If I may be so bold as to share his dream, he dreamt that he was a creation and not a creation in any religious sense. He was, in essence, nothing more than a dream. In his dream, he had seen the person who created him. This individual slept and tossed and turned as he did. The individual floated instead of lying in a bed. It was some sort of transparent, gel-like bubble in which the person floated around and gently bounced off. The wall seemed to give and expand in a way that would not affect or disturb the person who was sleeping. He could not make out the person’s face, but the person in his dream was grimacing as he slept. In his dream, it was revealed that his existence was a creation of the person who now slept in the bubble. This person was dreaming, and it was relative to an 8-hour sleep cycle. When Vlad woke from his dream, it was clear that he was nothing more than a creation. He was not real. A sense of incredulity and consternation gripped him. However, his mindset was hazy and fragmented. He did not know if it was his current illness but felt he knew something that he had never known before.

He got up in a panic and tried to make sense of it. His heart pounding, he had trouble breathing. However, just as quickly, his dream became fragmented and lost. Only one piece remained. Like a puzzle that is complete only to be tossed aside. Exasperated, and unable to piece his dream together, he fell asleep again, and when he awoke most of his dream was forgotten. It was stored away… who knows where? If I were a neuroscientist or of higher intelligence, I am sure I could intelligibly describe what happened. I am not, so I won’t. He did, however, try to make sense of his dream and vaguely recalled that person floating in that very simple but strange device. In that moment of quiet desperation, he began an internal dialogue, telling himself it was only a dream, nothing more than a dream: a dream that was altered greatly by his illness.

Later he got up and headed again to the kitchen and had some water. He turned the TV on and began to brew some tea. The morning was bitter, and so too was his anxiety. He would close his eyes to try to relive his dream. However, much to his chagrin, it was still clustered, not as vivid. More of it would come later. He did spend the day trying to piece it together. He was feeling better as the day transpired; still had a sore throat, however, the fever was no more. It was very unusual for him to get ill, so he was trying to get over this bug as soon as he could. All he did was lie around and watch the news and fall asleep.

Night Tremors

Before falling asleep, he had been feeling much better and had emailed work a few minutes before updating everyone that he would be back tomorrow. Everything was normal, but he had another cup of medicated tea just in case. When he finally fell asleep, he felt a sensation he had never felt. I am sure doctors would easily identify it as a form of sleep paralysis. He was awake and knew that he was so; however, he could not get up. He struggled against the feeling of being pinned down but to no avail. He could make out the time on the clock: 3:33 am, as the numbers seem to change shapes and dance around. He felt shortness of breath as terror took hold. He thought he was dying, and just before thinking he would perish forever, something changed.

He was now off his bed, in some other room. He tried to make out where he was and noticed the same bubble contraption and the individual asleep. This reality, he understood, was a not-very-distant future: maybe 100 years into the future from his deduction and logic. The furniture, what he could see, was minimal and sleek, almost surgical, light in complexion, and nothing too radical from his flat. The windows were quite different, however; the material was not glass, but some sort of clear gel. He was able to get closer to the bubble, and when he attempted to touch it, the individual moved, which startled Vlad, who hastily moved his arm back. He focused on the person’s face, but the shadow did not allow him to make out any facial features. He kept looking at the bubble with curiosity when a mist seemed to fill the bubble and a voice read off percentages. The individual seemed to exhale heavily and then turned away, floating in the now misty bubble.

Vlad was reaching for the bubble when he suddenly woke up, gasping for air. His heartbeat out of rhythm, and he felt as though he would suffer a heart attack. It took him seconds to regain his composure, but if you have ever awoken to gasp for air, breathing patterns interrupted, you are well aware that seconds feel like an eternity. The time was now 3:34 am. This threw him, for he swore it was 3:33 am on his clock right before his episode. He got up and felt the need to walk around and catch his breath. Being the logical person he was, he tried to make sense of it, scientifically. I am sure this is a panic attack, that's all, he thought to himself. Breathe and relax. He headed toward the window and stared out at the city in the hope of regaining a level of normalcy. It was cold, and he could see the smoke billowing from the nearby buildings and old warehouses that were now fancy lofts. He looked at his hands and noticed he was trembling. Reality did not seem real. However, his 11-dimensional brain could not make sense of what it was he was trying to convey or what he was experiencing. He stared hard into the distance, pondered his existence, and headed back to bed as his heart rate began to normalize. No dreams followed.

Work

His alarm was going off when he finally woke. He felt better, and the sore throat was over. He got up and engaged in his daily routine: shower, an espresso, and off he went. He worked downtown, about 10 minutes away from his loft. He worked as a web designer for a local IT start-up company that had recently received additional funding. He found out that day, much to his surprise and dismay, that he had been selected to head over to London and Paris, for they were opening two more offices. The company was nothing more than a kind of YouTube or LinkedIn designed to allow candidates and job seekers to upload a quick video of themselves for employers to highlight their CV. Harry, who was the head of operations, named him in the meeting.

Three of our team members better have their passports ready, for they are on their way to Europe next week! said Harry with great excitement. This is exciting news for our small team and company, he added. Next week, John, Stella, and Vlad will be the fortunate ones.

Everyone began applauding, Vlad included, and at that very moment images of his dream raced in his head: neurons and dendrites engaged, that lingering puzzle that he was unable to complete briefly materialized. He regained his composure but felt embarrassed. He felt all eyes were on him when in reality no one noticed what he was going through.

Typically, Vlad would zone out at work, playing music by Pixies, Joy Division, or the Smiths, to name a few. He loved his job because he was left alone. He thought about the colleagues that he would be joining on this European trip, and he was nervous and excited at the same time. He had left the country before and was very fond of history and loved London from afar. He was also very fond of Stella, who was in her early 20s, and who he considered a very stunning young lady. John had recently started dating Stella, which was an office open secret. John was a goofball and overall nice guy.

Vlad headed out early that day. Harry was a hands-off boss and owner who everyone liked. Vlad walked over to the Capitol Hill area and into the local bookstore and looked around for a bit when he ran into Stella and John, who were just coming in.

Hey, there he is! said John in a British accent. London bound are you, young squire?

Sure seems that way. Vlad had a thing for Stella, which made it hard for him to look at her. And when I say a thing, let me clarify: she once appeared in one of his dreams. Now as to the content of the said dream, a gentleman never shares. Stella could tell but was very easy going and had some affection for Vlad. She found him to be vulnerable and heard throughout the office that he suffered from social anxiety. Vlad, for the most part, kept to himself, having a very dry sense of humor and acerbic wit. Only his close friends ever saw this side of him.

Are you looking for a new book? asked Stella.

Not really. Just looking... see what catches the eye. Do you know when we are leaving? asked Vlad.

I think it's next Thursday, said John. So, pick a good book, but a short book, for we will be going out for drinks every night. It’s on the company, after all.

That we will, added Stella.

Do you have your passports ready? asked Vlad. Vlad had no idea where his passport was, and that too was creating anxiety.

Of course, we do! said John

Well, Vlad, we don’t mean to pester and will leave you to your book search, said Stella.

The Night Before the Trip

Wednesday night, he was preparing his bags, for they would be leaving early morning. He was now excited and looked forward to spending time with Stella and John. He read more about London history and Paris. He was a bit rushed and finally fell asleep. For the first time in a couple of days, he did not think of his dream. However, that night, a similar sensation came to him—sleep paralysis, if you will. He again struggled to wake up, and the only thing he could see was the blue light of his clock; oddly enough, the time was the same. He struggled and tried to wake up and get up, and just like