INTRODUCTION

Although tasked with fighting nightmares, as Dream Detectives our purpose is not to fight, but rather to document the human condition. Nightmares are deep reflections of the psyche, and by immersing ourselves in one, we experience what it is to be human. Although we can immerse ourselves in any dream--nightmares constitute the majority of our assignments because fear is intimate. We prefer surveying in sleep to fieldwork because when one realizes it's just a dream, one dares to become bold--to become more their self. In your dreams, the universe revolves around you. It cares about you. When you become scared or pained it wakes you up. When you become angry it takes all you have to give, although with patience. Then, once you are happy or satisfied with where you stand, a new dream begins. Lest our society become exposed rarely do we intervene in one's dreams, although occasionally when a nightmare becomes overwhelming we step in. Although intangible in your world, dreams manifest as chimeras in our world. Once defeated, we bring the nightmare from your world into ours where it rests in our menagerie for classification and further study. Lest our society become exposed, rarely do we intervene.

CASE ONE

His dream began unbeknownst to him. As the setting was where he lived and the cast composed of those he knew, it was as if he had never drifted off to sleep. It says something about a person when their dreams take them no farther than what they already know. They might be the type who are happy and comfortable with all they've come to know and desire very little, or they might be the type who struggle daily and just wish to get things right. This subject was the latter, but unlike most, no matter how many times he ran things through in his mind, he could never quite figure things out. As usual, his thoughts took him back to where he had grown up and where he still

currently dwelled.

In his dream, he woke up believing he had finally achieved a good night's rest. Light poured in through his bedside panes as he took his first steps out of bed. For a moment he reflected on how nice it was to not need to reach for the light switch nor need to rush to reset the alarm. For the past month he had trouble falling asleep in the dark, as though he were not within the safe confines of his own house but rather within the unforgiving limits of the wilderness. He had always slept in this bed, in this house which he had grown up in. The house was not haunted nor its keeper the protector of some mystery, he just appreciated things as they had always been.

By the time he left to collect the eggs for his breakfast, the rooster had long retired to its coop. His boots picked up and carried the earth with them, leaving his trail in case somebody came looking for him. Although he rose in the sun's early light, the day had returned to the dreary state in which he had fallen asleep. The most intuitive of his animals, the rabbits, retreated deep into their hutches and at last emerged as he passed them. The least intuitive of his animals, the goats, rushed to meet him, their muzzles and bellies stained an uninviting shade of brown. Setting his eggs down, he warily tugged at their beards while he fed them from his other hand. Savoring the moment, they licked his hands clean, removing the stains they had just left. Content, he went on to collect from the rest of his animals before heading out to tend his crops. Then he would enjoy breakfast.

Who would have guessed that this subject, this man who lived so simply and peacefully, suffered in his sleep? This is why we study humans the way we do. Like their dreams, humans are far more than what meets the eye. So far I had a hunch about this man--he had lived a tranquil life, and for that he was generally happy…however he was the type to obsess over the slightest disturbance. To suffer narcolepsy, yet remain unaware of what it was which was troubling him, had made this man forfeit the fight with his nightmare, night after night. How could a man hope to tame a beast he knew nothing about? As kind as this man's day had been, I proceeded to survey on my own.

The scenic dream fell apart when he appeared. He was patched, as though the farmer had resorted to eating him in pieces. Despite his limp he overshadowed the rest of the herd, forcing them to retreat and reconvene in brighter pastures. Never had my work beheld such a lucid nightmare. Resigned to the afterlife, his horns grew crooked yet high upon his head. Needless to say, it would be necessary to take the bull by its horns and remove his crown. He was quite the specimen, one I couldn't wait to welcome into the Menagerie. But I couldn't allow first impressions to get the better of me. To be woken from death by this midnight ram, night after night...this subject would have testified to the most horrible of ordeals, if he had not been spared for being unable to remember upon waking!

To sate my curiosity, I grant the black sheep the opportunity to find the farmer before introducing myself. For something like this to be birthed from the mind of such an unassuming man…was it simply the outcome of a guileless farmer having reaped what he had sown? While the dream had been plain and honest, was it wrong to interpret this nightmare just as literally? It was difficult to believe that this black sheep could have ever grazed among the rest…I would need to observe the farmer's response upon discovering it to ascertain whether it had once truly existed this way. At this time, I had become unaware of the whereabouts of the farmer, so I opt to trail the nightmare as it lurked about.

As the midnight ram haunt the grounds the idyllic dream once more gave way to a harsh nightmare. The sky had turned grey, the ground was left muddy, but worst of all the storm dwelt in the sky. On his hunt for the farmer, the ram came upon the boot tracks, and from there, the confrontation was inevitable--he merely had to saunter on. First he circled around the rabbit hutches, which I noticed had been left bereft of food and which needed cleaning. Then, he passed the goats lying in the mud, making it apparent how they had been left abandoned in the weather all this time. At last the nightmare finally came across the house, only to discover it was vacant. The smell of breakfast hung heavy in the air.

Circling around to discover boot tracks, the midnight ram continued on his quest. The trail no longer verdant and lush, the earth swallowed his every step, forcing him to toil on. His underbelly immersed, from afar one might mistake him as an oxen just cut loose from a wagon he had failed to ford. As I trailed him safely from higher ground, I was able to make out the farmer first. Even higher still, the farmer sat by, unperturbed, dedicated to shearing his flock. He had beat the weather, for only his boots betrayed stain. Upon noticing the farmer, the ram abandoned the trail and weathered a straight ascent. As though to hold him back, the earth clung to him, sparing the farmer a crucial moment.

Just as the man finished shearing, another sheep bleat eagerly. At this, he offered it an apology, realizing once again that he could not finish all that he had hoped to accomplish today. Following his father's passing, he had decided to take over the farm and now it was his alone. Out here, where he had the whole world to himself, the man felt proud. Everything he needed was here at home; satisfying labor, good company, and most important: peace and quiet. A black sheep in society, the man knew he belonged back on his farm. Suddenly, his reverie is interrupted as he notices a massive black beast advancing toward him from the depths of the ravine. By this time the rest of the flock has fled, leaving the black sheep on his own.

Finally the man and his nightmare meet face-to-face. The man asks the black sheep whether he has come to be shorn. Weighed down by wool and mud, surely it must desire to be freed to graze among the rest of its kind? At that moment, I decided I'd seen enough. Curiosity sated, I step out and inform the man of what he must realize: Just like yourself, he's too proud to admit it, but this black sheep can't take care of himself. Look at his horns…sure, they're to be proud of, but they've grown far too much for him to handle! Besides, as no one has been there for him, he's had to burden maneuvering about under that midnight cloak all the while…

Just as the man's kindness had staggered the nightmare, my words had staggered this man. Peering at me curiously he implores as to what we should do. I correct him as I gesture toward the black sheep, Not us, rather it is you who must help yourself. In your solitude you have neglected what matters most. Like your farm, you have allowed yourself to fall behind because you haven't realized you need help from somebody else. Don't feel ashamed…

Musing over this, shears in hand, the man tentatively makes his way over to the black sheep. Drawing a rag from his pocket, he wipes the mucus off its muzzle and begins to offer it reprieve. The conversation goes on for a long time, and as the midnight cloak falls in patches, the man and the black sheep achieve peace.

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The man woke up having finally achieved a good night's rest…and my job was done. Upon his awakening, I led the midnight ram back to my world, for if I had not, he would have dissipated into the dawn as nightmares always do. A source of pride to us both, he bears his horns as his crown. To this very night, he resides in the Menagerie under the classification: Aries.

CASE TWO

Although teenagers are generally unhappy, it is adults which we are primarily called upon to handle. The dreams of teenagers are uncomplicated as they do not realize how simple their yearnings actually are. Unlike adults, which are defeatists rather than idealists, teenagers tend to share more in common, making them easier enigmas than they believe. Furthermore, teenagers lead more connected lives with each other than adults, therefore they are easier to learn about. Never before have I been tasked with investigating the nightmare of a teenager…yet, the subject of consideration that evening was none other than this teenage girl dropping by her locker. That's how I knew she was more than just her appearance, that this case would be more than just what meets the eye.

They say the best times in a human's life are when they are young, but in the case of this subject, the opposite held true. The survivor of a tragic adolescence, she was always found chasing disaster. Perhaps it was never clear to her how it was really her who had saved herself all along, or perhaps it was because she felt it necessary to maintain her adrenaline to keep herself alive. Despite this, she made the right choices…as one must be able to do if they are to stay alive in difficult times. It is said that the good die young and the notorious live long. Only a teen at the time, now she was a full grown adult…but nobody could tell until she told them this herself.

Only in her nightmares was she thirteen again. Peering down at her ripped jeans, she could tell that she had awakened within yet another nightmare. School was back in session. Wondering whether she could pass the time with her friends until the ordeal was over, she heads to class earlier than usual. She reasons that there, things should stay okay, for who would dare take a drag just to be bad with the teacher there to see? To the chagrin of those who have seen her with her friends, she has never smoked nor done drugs. Nonchalant as always, she goes to retrieve her belongings from her locker. All this time she has seen no one else, yet she carries on as usual. As she shuts her locker, she suffers a sudden yearning for someone else's company. Perhaps it is the ominous echo in the hallway, or perhaps it is what she sees as she closes the locker door--an old photograph of her together with that boy. Anything can happen in a dream, right?

Stoicism as a philosophy is best learned as an adult. However it was taught to him young, when no one cared about his feelings. And, as no one cared, why should he? Unable to resist taking another drag inside the hallway, the teenage boy reflects deeply upon how he turned out. Though warned to never judge another based on their appearance, upon piercing his nose, even his parents began to steer clear. As soon as the deed was done he regret it, and yet, it was enough. Coming to find his girlfriend admiring the photo of the two of them in front of her locker, he charges boldly on, eager to talk with someone who will listen. On his way over he turns the corner too quickly and comes into contact with the wet paint. In that moment all he can see is red.

She knew him since elementary school. The photo of them together takes her back to their childhood, back to when a relationship was okay between two friends, regardless of what others might have said about them. Though a rebel, he had been her protector after her father's life had been taken on the street, when she felt she had no one to keep her safe. Never before had she realized how fast and dangerous the world could be, but he taught her how to keep pace so it wouldn't catch her. In return, she helped him out of his hard times at home by lending him her ear. As time flew by, he grew up to be dangerous, but by then she had learned to survive.

Upon hearing his footsteps, she turns. Relieved upon realizing it is just her boyfriend, she yields and smiles. Another one of her nightmares, she knows what comes next. He waves at her and in reply she holds up her hand, urging him to halt. Although she knows he will tell her himself, she inquires as to why he appears the way he does. He smirks and holds up both hands, which he forgets are covered in red paint.

Just how a racecar needs a new paint job, I needed a change in appearance for high school. You look pretty as always, though. Don’t change!

Suppressing a smile, the teenage girl must compose herself before daring to look her boyfriend in the eye.

But you're the one who keeps telling me it's not about what's on the outside!

Defeated, he bows his head as though a bull about to charge…but then thinks better of it. Following an exasperated sigh he swaggers over, wiping his red stains off onto his black jeans. Before he can approach close enough to rub off on her, she remarks on how they have grown apart. Expressing her genuine feelings about their relationship, she explains how unfair it is of him to expect her to remain the same when he has changed as much as he has. Besides his sudden change in appearance she mentions how she no longer feels safe or protected, as his recent reputation has endangered them both in the past. Upon hearing her concerns he tries approaching her once more, however her nervous flinch changes his mind and causes him to bow his head once more.

In his mind he realized he has made the wrong decision. No one had ever cared to get to know who he truly was except her, so how was this teenage boy to know? All this time he hadn't actually changed who he was inside…it was just how he appeared to her now. After all they had been through together, how was danger an issue if he was always able to protect her? Amidst his confusion, he apologizes. Then he swears he will change once more, but into somebody better this time. But by then she has stopped listening…she had always listened to whatever he had to say before. As he realizes this is not who she is anymore, head bowed, he charges.

Over the years she had grown used to running away. But never from her protector.

Fortunate for her there was nobody else to run into besides me. Built more for fight than flight, her betrayed boyfriend had given up the chase and by the time she had vaulted down the stairwell and lapsed the third corner, they were sure to never see each other again. Although she'd be reluctant to encounter him again, now was the time to intervene. I would have to leave this teenage girl's trust to chance. Upon her turning the sixth corner, we run into each other. Offering her a tacit apology for not getting involved earlier, I cut to the chase: Today was long ago and he has hurt you to this very day. While no one can change the past you can still do what is right. You must forgive and leave him to the past, something your younger self struggled with all those years as she couldn't bring herself to do it then. To do this you must offer his spirit sympathy…only then will this nightmare leave you alone.

Upon taking my leave, she grabs onto my arm. She asks if we could be friends, but I know she means something else. Just as other subjects I have aided in the past, she is fearful and only desires my security. Only when humans feel secure do they dare to care for anybody else in return…but as in the case of this teenage girl and her nightmare, humans never grow out of feeling insecure. Before I leave, I remind her that if she is to make amends with her younger self, she must face this bully on her own.

They meet up for the final time in front of her locker. He had resorted to waiting for her there ever since. Tentative, she steps forth. Nobody knows who they will grow up to become, and while we have grown up together, we must break apart! I understand why you changed yourself and wanted to grow up faster--because you were uncomfortable with who you were…But, I feel the same! Before, when you asked me to never change, I felt as though you were asking for the rest of my life…but we're only thirteen! Please, understand! As she finishes her plea, she bows her head, anxious for his response. Unsure, he merely extends his hand. By this time he has done his best to wipe it clean. As she reluctantly takes it and bids him farewell, she feels her younger self forgive her. The nightmare never visits again.

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No one can stay thirteen forever. At last the teenage girl can move on from her past. Upon her awakening, I bring the teenage boy back to my world, for if I had not, he would have dissipated at dawn without further contemplation. Since then, he is the nightmare we confide in regarding any curiosity we have about how it is to be human. To date, his classification: Taurus.

INFORMATION

TITLE: THE MENAGERIE

GENRE: MYSTERY/FANTASY/NARRATIVE(FICTION)

AUTHOR AGE: 28

WORDCOUNT: 3339

AUTHOR: ANNA B HUGHES

PROJECT AIM: A SHORT SERIES OF QUICK READS THAT WILL MAKE PEOPLE THINK OF EACH OTHER FROM ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE

HOOK: "Although tasked with fighting nightmares, as Dream Detectives our purpose is not to fight, but rather to document the human condition. Nightmares are deep reflections of the psyche, and by immersing ourselves in one, we experience what it is to be human."

SYNOPSIS: A DREAM DETECTIVE HELPS SOLVES THE NIGHTMARES OF HUMAN BEINGS AND IN DOING SO ACHIEVES AN UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE A HUMAN BEING.

TARGET AUDIENCE: YOUNG ADULT

BIOGRAPHY: 28 YR OLD FEMALE LIVING IN PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

PLATFORM: NONE

EDUCATION: B. SCIENCE IN BIOMEDICAL ENGINEERING

EXPERIENCE: PRIMARILY PROSE/POETRY

PERSONALITY: A YOUNG ADULT DESPITE BEING AN ADULT

HOBBIES: PLAYING WITH PUPPY AND WRITING

AGE: 28 YRS OLD

Seeking asylum from the storm, I derive shelter beneath the branches of the ancient oak. The storm howls as it struggles to free itself and the clouded canopy rains down upon me. My spirits put out, I rekindle them and seek refuge once more, casting away my protector as the lightning sets its branches ablaze.

Work hard now so you can live lazy later.

As they say about the game of life:

Level up a bunch so you can beat that bad boss in a hunch.

Why is it considered uncouth, perhaps even "saucy" to eat some things with a spoon? Dishes such as salsa, soup, and stew, which cannot be gripped with a fork, can only be handled with a spoon. Otherwise, to prefer to eat with a spoon rather than with a fork betrays a proclivity for incivility. When was the last time you, personally, used a spoon to eat your peas? If you're like most, probably as a young child being taught your manners. According to the Oxford Languages Dictionary, the definition of Civility is formal politeness and courtesy in behavior or speech. Civility entails forgoing convenience for politeness. This is evident in everyday discourse when one puts on a tie or ties back their hair, along with other choices which convey a preference for placing the esteem of others above one's own personal comfort. By demonstrating your good manners by eating your slippery peas with a fork instead of with a spoon, you present yourself as civil and refined, worthy of greater respect.

The midnight magician.

That's what the school calls me.

Who magically made the cafeteria clean following the Food Feud?

Who charmingly crammed hundreds of exams over Spring Break into one trashcan?

Who astoundingly aced attendance despite it all?

Not that anybody notices.

Stay after school to study and leave spellbound.

Stay to play pranks on the playground and find yourself cursed.

I may not be your teacher but I can read your mind.

I can hear how smart you think you are.

Who removed that gum from under your desk?

Who returned your missing ID back into your locker?

Call me a mad man.

That's what all the students call me.

The midnight magician.

That's what the school calls me.

The killer had only wanted everything played out like the thrillers he had watched since he was a child...in which he would finally become known through the perspective of his last victim--the one which got away. But this was real life. Dead or alive, no matter what became of them or who they once were, each victim deserved their story to be told. I was his first. Though he tried convincing me I was better off dead, I allowed myself to remain buried where he could trod on me, biding my time until I could seize him by his ankles.

There comes a time in your life when you realize your life doesn't just belong to you anymore. Even your happily-ever-after best friend, the one which you made once-upon-a-time when you met your prince, betrays you to the paparazzi. Like mosquitoes, they suck on anything and anyone just for the excuse to gossip! Their words buzz in your ears until they finally settle on the tongue, where they are cherished and dwelt upon as though anything but one's just-dessert.

Being a perfectionist, my best friend told me it was the "worst day of her life" yesterday. She had invited over fifty guests for her birthday but the cake was a size medium instead of a size large. Although it "wasn't enough" and she got her refund, she wound up asking me to take the leftover cake home as she couldn't "stand to take another bite of it!" By the end, I couldn't help but think to myself:

Well if this doesn't take the cake! It's true, you can't eat your cake and have it too.

However, in spite of everything, the photographer was all over me the entire time. It was as if he wasn't really a real photographer, but rather one of those paparazzi who bust in for the free cake and the dumb drama. Just a week ago, another one of my shots made the catalog while my best friend's didn't...Perhaps this is why she always stands by my side, to benefit from my poise? I'll never forget the time my social media pictures were leaked by a hacker, when really it was her all along! Still, things turned out fine...while everyone recognized my smile from that catalog shoot, there remained so much speculation as to who that girl next to me could be! At this point, even I have to ask myself:

Do I even know who my best friend is anymore?

The sapling grew tall and proud until the sky threatened to uproot it by its very branches. Thus the sapling wept growing up, afraid of becoming torn from its roots. Bent under its own weight, grown wizened and wise, to this day the Weeping Willow still reaches towards Mother Earth.

It was a dark and stormy night when the lights went out. Lightning lit the room brighter than it had been all night. Believing someone had turned on the lights, they turned their heads to catch the culprit, only to lose sight of things as the night returned. Rubbing her eyes to determine whether they were still open, her hands immediately rushed to cradle her as the window blew in from behind her. Amidst howling wind and thunder, somebody resort to releasing a scream, imploring as to how everybody else stood in this situation. Unanswered, deserted with only the sounds of the creaking floorboards beneath them, it wasn't until the tremor began to approach that they realized something was wrong. But by then, the air had turned salty, and it was too late. She realized she had lost all feeling, her body so cold that the wind ceased to creep up down her spine. Blind, deaf, and senseless, she succumbed, knocked to her knees. Her hands still cradling her, she wondered whether they might miss her in the dark--or worse, trip over her. Suddenly, time and space tripped...a hand clenched her shoulder--she screamed. Hoping to catch her assailant, she dared open her eyes and found the room lit brighter than it had been all night. A switch had been flipped…her giggling friends now no longer what they once were, she left them hanging the next morning.