This is an odd little metaphysical tale about the power of dreams.

Dream Girl

by Terry Volkirch

The old man woke up, gasping for breath. The few remaining strands of long hair matted to his sweaty head. His gnarled hands trembled. He'd had that dream again.

Every night, it was the same thing. A small innocent looking girl slowly approached him. She smiled and held out both of her arms in a welcoming gesture. The old man thought it was her way of asking for a hug, so he hugged her. He picked her up and embraced the little girl, imagining she was his own daughter from another life, an impossible life.

As with all good things, the hug had to end. He gently set her on the ground with a fond smile and looked down to see he was holding his beating heart. He watched it pump blood all over his hands in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Please," she pleaded. "I'm so hungry. May I have it now?"

"No!" he shouted in response, scaring the girl and causing her to scream. She startled him and he dropped his heart. Then he held his hands over the gaping hole in his chest and his eyes rolled back in their sockets. That's when the dream ended.

The tired old man dragged himself out of bed and pushed himself through his morning ritual. It had been well over a dozen years since he'd been able to leave himself on autopilot. Now, even the most mundane task required constant attention and far too much energy. Life barely seemed worth living when combing one's hair became a dreaded chore.

The marathon foot scuffing to the kitchen offered little reward. Scrambled eggs weren't worth the effort and a bowl of sugary cold cereal held only a tiny fraction of the appeal it did when he was young. Why was he still alive? What kept him going?

It could have something to do with the recurring dream that had plagued him for the past several months. Something inside him decided to shake him up and nag him into action. Could it be his muse?

He'd written many stories earlier in his long life, and the older he got, the more motivation he needed to finish them. He'd finally given up on writing, once it too became a chore with little reward. Nothing he wrote amounted to anything. His stories never won any popularity contests. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter. He thought he could write stories just for himself and a few easily amused fans, but like virtually everything else in his life, he gave it up.

As he sat slurping small spoonfuls of cereal, he looked around at the ancient chrome furniture and peeling linoleum floor. Perhaps the dull landscape of his life dulled his mind. He'd surrounded himself with things that sparked fond memories from his youth but those memories eroded with time. His past evaporated, leaving him with a residue of bland junk. He desperately needed a fresh new perspective.

The old man stood at the sink, slowly rinsing his bowl and spoon. He stared into space until he let the sound of happy children reach his ears. Children rarely used the playground near his apartment so their appearance was a rare treat. In spite of the regret of never having children, hearing them always brought a smile to his face.

The view from his deck caught one side of the playground and there he saw a little girl playing with her younger brother under the watchful eye of their mother. He knew they were a family because he'd often seen them all get into a car together. Watching his neighbors had become his only hobby.

He always thought a protective brother and younger sister made a better combination for a family but he shuddered to think about anyone letting modern technology choose the gender of their children. Just because something is possible doesn't mean it should be done. The idea of tinkering with gender always upset him anyway.

He sat at the end of his worn brown couch to watch the children play and suddenly his eyes teared up. The little girl brought back memories of his nagging dream, and added a new surprise as well. He was right. His muse was back. The little scene outside helped to inspire a story and he knew he had no choice but to write it.

* * *

The old man booted up his computer and sat down heavily on his padded chair. He impatiently endured two minutes of beeping and various other noises until he could log in. Then he started running a simple word processor.

The ending of his story eluded him but he had enough to start. A lifetime of experience and pent up emotion flooded his mind and poured through his fingertips and onto the screen. The effort drained him but it felt good to remember what it was like to have something worth doing.

He titled the story Little Spirit. It followed the life -- or perhaps existence is a better word -- of a spirit that had never inhabited a physical body. The spirit had never been able to experience sensations of the physical world, so oddly enough, it had never been male or female.

The little spirit had a guardian spirit, and the guardian promised to give the spirit the gift of physical existence -- the gift of life -- but only under one condition. The spirit had to choose which gender it would like to be.

The guardian was bestowing a great honor but choosing to be a boy or girl tortured the little spirit. How could it pick one gender over the other when it had never experienced a life as either? Should the decision be completely random? Should a spirit have preferences?

"Please." Little Spirit begged its guardian. "Please help me choose."

The guardian pondered the request. It would defeat the purpose of his gift if he explained it so he left the little spirit to give the matter some thought.

He had experienced life as both man and woman and that had helped him become a more complete being. He could appreciate and understand both perspectives. Still, in spite of his mixed experience, he liked to think of himself as male. He'd been male for most of his incarnations and he preferred the restrained emotions and show of raw strength that he came to associate with being male.

He was still an individual, with likes and dislikes he'd gained while alive. Without his individuality, he'd have been absorbed by the collective unconscious of the universe long ago. That's what made the little spirit so special. It shouldn't exist. It didn't start with a physical body so it had to have trouble developing any preferences. It should've been absorbed long ago but it somehow continued to exist.

The little spirit had become his responsibility after "the powers that be" realized what a rare opportunity had arisen. They wanted to see if the spirit could make an unbiased decision about its gender, and in the process, perhaps even determine the nature of the universe. Did the universe itself have a dominant gender? Which made more sense: god or goddess?

The guardian had to tread very carefully. He couldn't say anything that might influence the spirit one way or the other. Saying nothing seemed the safest course of action so that became his decision for the time being.

The old man had to take a break at that point. The rest of the story remained hidden in a mental maze. He had to spend some time organizing his thoughts, maybe even start walking again. His walks had always helped him with his writing in the past.

* * *

After several weeks, the story remained unfinished, and all the while the old man kept having the same disturbing dream. The dream became his motivation, tormenting him until he could continue writing.

He walked everyday and wore himself ragged. He fasted and meditated for days, doing anything to clear his mind and focus. Finally, with his body and spirit cleansed, the answer came to him.

* * *

The story continued by going back to check on Little Spirit. The spirit had been left alone by its guardian and began to think it had been abandoned. Its chronic indecisiveness and solitude had caused it to lose its will to exist, so it went in search of an evil spirit known as Spirit Eater.

The Spirit Eater was an ancient being with an unknown origin. Many doubted its existence but after leaving on a quest to find it, no spiritual being had ever returned. Stories about it could only be based on conjecture and speculation, and the evil spirit became the stuff of legend.

Little Spirit didn't believe in legends though. It believed anything that could be conceived could become reality. It made its own reality and believed in a Spirit Eater so the Spirit Eater had to exist. That meant that it didn't take the little spirit long to have the encounter it sought.

Spirit Eater gobbled up its prey with one tremendous gulp and began the slow process of digesting the little spirit's energy. Luckily, the act did not go unnoticed.

The guardian chose the right moment to return to his ward. He acted quickly and without thought, manifesting the energy blade of justice to cleave Spirit Eater in half. Out popped Little Spirit, confused but unharmed after having spent such a short time in the belly of its attacker.

When the little spirit realized what had happened, it felt wanted for the first time, and felt motivated to continue its existence. It felt loved.

The guardian didn't exactly share his ward's feelings. He mainly felt concern. Not helping Little Spirit with its decision had nearly led to disaster so the time had come for a discussion, starting with an explanation of the general differences between male and female brains.

Hormones help to wire the brains of fetuses to create several major differences between the two genders. Estrogen reinforces the brain's natural tendency to be more social and more attuned to emotions. Testosterone changes the brains of male fetuses by reducing social and emotional capacity and making them more aggressive. Of course there's a combination of some male and female personality traits in everyone, and how one is raised also affects behavior. Personalities actually cover a broad spectrum while hormones try to reinforce the natural wiring of the brain.

The guardian kept the lecture objective by only conveying facts, and when he finished, he moved on to a philosophical discussion about the meaning of life.

Was there one meaning that applied to everyone in the universe or should the meaning be unique to each individual? Everyone had a different answer so it appeared that the latter was true. He then asked the little spirit to think of the most important aspect of existence and decide which gender would be best equipped to handle that aspect. Hopefully, pursuing such questions would help his ward choose a gender.

When the guardian had finished, Little Spirit found it still couldn't decide, but it began to feel optimistic about the possibility of making a decision.

"Thank you, Guardian. I believe I can make a decision now, though it may take some time."

The guardian felt relief and joy, and to celebrate the moment, he thought of yet one more thing to say. He explained about hungry ghosts, hoping to help motivate the little spirit to begin its new life as soon as possible.

"Hungry ghosts crave the sensations of the physical world. Some of them can never get enough but the craving is part of a natural process. Experiencing the physical world is important for spiritual development. Some of the most important aspects of existence can only be learned through the senses and experiences of a physical body. Those experiences carry over into the spiritual world and add to the wisdom of the universe."

The story ended and the guardian slowly floated away. He thought to leave the little spirit to think about what he'd said, but it didn't take the spirit long to decide.

Nothing was more important than the love it felt when its guardian saved it, and one gender seemed to have a definite advantage when it came to expressing love. The decision was suddenly clear and compelling.

If it had a physical body, Little Spirit would've been crying with joy. Instead, it just called out to its guardian.

"I'm ready!"

"Does that mean you've decided on a gender?" The guardian said as he returned.

"Yes. I'd like to be a girl," stated Little Spirit with conviction.

"So my little hungry ghost. Are you ready for a body then?"

"Yes, please," she said. "I'm so hungry. May I have it now?"

The guardian radiated love and granted her wish.

* * *

The old man went to bed feeling relaxed and content for the first time in years. He'd finished his story and posted it on the Internet. There was nothing left for him now, no friends or family. He'd been tired and alone for so long but after finishing his story, he finally felt like he accomplished something good in his life. The story had been very well-received. He was at a good stopping point.

* * *

The little girl woke up, gasping for breath. She'd been having a strange dream. She tried to remember the whole dream but most of it slipped from her mind like sand through her fingers. In the span of a few quick breaths, all but the ending was forgotten.

Then, as soon as she gave up on the dream, new memories flooded her brain. Those memories confused and began to frighten her until she noticed dust motes dancing in the sunlight that peeked through a gap in her curtains. The dust motes fascinated her and made her think to look all around her room. When she did that, her confusion soon went the way of the dream.

Everything seemed so vivid and different. It felt like she was seeing it all for the first time. Sensations of touch also begged for attention. The soft blankets and warmth and comfort of her bed captivated her.

Two of her senses threatened to trap her there in her room, but luckily more were available. It was the smell of French toast that finally motivated her to get up. The cooking odors became yet another new and overpowering sensation that triggered hunger pangs, and that combination became an irresistible force. Dressed in her pink and white princess pajamas, she slid her feet into the matching slippers at her bedside and followed the wonderful smell to the kitchen.

"Hello Sweetie," said a very familiar looking woman in her mid 30s. "I take it you didn't have another nightmare. I didn't hear any screams this time."

"I wasn't scared at all ... Mommy."

"That's good, Sweetie."

The woman smiled but quickly looked concerned when she heard her daughter's stomach rumble.

"Oh dear. Would you like some breakfast? I've got some French toast ready or I can make you something else if you don't mind waiting."

"Yes, please. I'm so hungry. May I have it now?"

* * * The End * * *

 © 2008 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.