The Travelogue of Dreams
It’s travel that involves no movement but that of sparks, crossing synapses in a sleeping brain.
Sometimes there’s a correlation to places I know: an imagined neighborhood in my hometown, accessed by a street I never followed to the end; a fictitious event at a fairground or vacant building I once visited; a secret room in my house, below a trap door, or behind a panel in a little-used closet.
More often, there’s no objective reality at all. I might step over the brink of an awe-inspiring canyon, and float down to join unsurprised tourists below. I might wade into the ocean over my head, with no thought of drowning, and watch sea life pass through impossibly clear water. I might drive through one entrancing, previously unknown city after another, the highway between shortened to virtual nothingness.
The one time I dreamed of an actual city, I went there at once. It wasn’t what I expected, of course, but I don’t regret the trip. While there or in transit, I picked up many fresh sensations. And I know that any sensation of my waking hours eventually contributes to the rich and varied travelogue of my dreams.
--Robert Laughlin lives in Chico, California. He is the creator of the Micro Award, an annual competition for previously published flash fiction. Two of his short stories are MWA Notable Stories, and his first novel, Vow of Silence, is available from Trytium.