Lucidity

Free Skating

I'm dreaming.

This time, I immediately recognize the Great Orion Nebula by its characteristic magenta glow and chiming beads of light. The half-obscured, starry silhouette is my mother. The boy at my side is a fellow dreamer, admiring the tiny stars flocking to him, orbiting both of our bodies like miniature planets. I shoot him a smile, and he grins back, revealing he's as lucid as I am.

"Excellent," my mother praises, pride evident in her beaming expression. "You became lucid much more quickly this time. You're improving."

"Lucid and ready to learn," Leo agrees enthusiastically. Ever since last night, he's been bursting with excitement. Earlier today, when we filmed the next portion of our English project, we spent hours discussing our impressions and hopes surrounding our discoveries even before turning the camera on.

My mother cups her hands in front of her. The swirling stardust races toward the vacuum she creates, vanishing into a void, leaving nothing in its wake but a blank white canvas. "Then I'm ready to teach you," she says, dropping her hands. "Over time, you will become proficient in the creation of dreams. Tonight, I need to introduce you to some logistical aspects of the Subconscious. This scenery should be the least distracting."

"Is it true that we can make anything we want?" I blurt, eager to skip to the most intriguing lesson. "Just by imagining it?"

Thankfully, my mother laughs, unperturbed by my impatience. "You can try it if you'd like. Think of how you express yourself in the waking world, how your creativity becomes reality. The Subconscious is no different; it only facilitates what you already know how to do."

    I ponder her advice, recalling the familiar feel of a pencil between my fingers, urging me to create. When I glance down, I find a pencil is already there, apparently triggered by the vivid memory. I hesitate, unsure of how to use it. I start with something simple, sketching a squiggly shape in the air, adding more lines branching out from it. The more I draw, the more concrete my vision becomes. I can easily rotate it to view it from any angle as it gains dimension and depth, with flat lines folding and diving and twisting around the shape. With every detail, the object becomes more clear, and soon the lines complete themselves without the guidance of my pencil. Velvety red bleeds from the center, filling each rose petal individually. Green sprouts up the stalk, protruding in delicate leaves and thorns.

A fully formed rose floats in front of me, something far more realistic than I could ever craft in the real world. I promise myself the thorns are harmless, and with a single thought, it becomes true. I gently hold it by the stem, feeling its infinitesimal weight in my hand. It even has a subtle fragrance, convincing me it's real, freshly plucked from a garden, not something I'm capable of creating. Instructed by the image in my brain, rose bushes bloom around my feet.

I turn to Leo to share my progress. He's holding a replica of Toby in his arms, complete with a wagging tail and wriggling paws. We smile at each other incredulously, both astonished by our creations.

"Wow," I exhale, beaming so brightly it hurts. "Leo, that's– How did you do that?"

"You have a whole garden?" Leo gasps, amber eyes wide and scintillating. He sets Toby down on the ground. The wagging tail repeats like a short animation, but he doesn't run around in his typical frenzy. Creating accurate actions and independent movement will likely be a lesson for another day.

Leo approaches me, examining the rose in my hand in impressed shock. When he reaches out to touch it, his fingers brush mine, breaking my concentration. The rose and bushes vanish simultaneously, leaving only a phantom sensation of the stem and Leo's fingers on my skin. Almost empathetically, Toby vanishes as well, leaving only a blank canvas once again.