resolved to resist. However, I had become weak and
increasingly dependent on the liquid and the dreams. I
stopped asking to be unbound.
I had the same dream each time I lost
consciousness and, as strong as the allure of the liquid was
to me, so was the draw of the dream. By now, the content
of the dream was clear. Its meaning remained a mystery.
The effect this state of perpetual somnolence was
having on my psyche was obvious. My waking moments
were filled in equal measure with torpor and craving for
the sweet liquid and its fruits, the dream. I was unaware of
or perhaps indifferent to the physical consequences. My
hair became matted, my beard grew out. I lost weight. My
body and bed dressings emitted a rank odor of unwashed
animal. In sum, an overall inattention to personal toilet. I
didn't care, so ensnared was I in craving the liquid and the
rapture of the dream. It wasn't long before I ceased to
rouse myself from sleep at all. Dr. Wertenberg
administered the potion to me periodically and the dream
continued with barely a moment's pause.
And, then, the dream that had become so precious
to me suddenly ended. My dreams are usually interrupted
and never reach completion. This dream was different.
The conclusion was obvious but unwanted. I tried to open
my eyes but couldn't, either through physical inability of
lack of will. I lay still for some moments, my mind seeking
reentry into the unconscious world. I felt the air in the
room grow still and warm. The whipping of the curtains
ceased. I knew that Wertenberg was at my bedside.
18