The Man Between Dreams

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The Man Between Dreams

Dreams in sleep have the power to alter your real life. Our subconscious minds have the same amount of power and strength as our conscious minds. Little did he know about it.

Atlas — his name. No one knows his real name except him. He tries to keep it hidden from the public. He sells his paintings for a living. His dream is to sell a painting worth enough to buy a house. Not bad. Seems pretty legit. He thinks so too.

But that one dream, on the previous day while he was asleep, turns his life upside down in a way he couldn’t believe something like that could happen.

After waking up in the morning — normal as he could be — he went out, had his breakfast, took his paintings, and went to the street. He started selling them near the beach, hoping some tourists might buy a few. Winds blowing, sunny day — a pleasant day in a pleasant place to sketch some scenery.

But what Atlas drew was not the beach in front of him, nor the tourists around him. It was a scene from his dream — a dream he dreamt yesterday. A man on a bridge pointing a gun at another man who was kneeling in front of him, and a car beside. A foggy atmosphere. The end of the bridge disappeared into the fog.

When he finished the painting, it looked more like a cinematic shot — not the usual from Atlas. He smirked a bit. It was new for him to draw something from his dream. The face of the man kneeling was visible — both his hands behind his head, and behind him, a Tesla car. The face of the man with the gun was unknown.

Atlas was a bit disappointed with the art; he thought he drew it out of curiosity. I just want to remember the dream, he thought. He assumed he’d wasted time drawing it. But he didn’t know what was about to come.

A man with a hat approached him. Stepping inside his perimeter, the man asked politely, “Is there any art with dreamy stuff? Or something fiction — something that’s not real?”

This line struck Atlas. Probably a prank, he thought. No one had ever asked him something like this before. Why would someone be interested in another man’s imagination? Who would hang a picture of someone’s dream in their house? Or was he buying it as a gift? Who would do that — gifting an art of someone’s imagination?

Atlas turned back to see the man. He looked extremely handsome, wearing a long coat on a sunny day — a hat, gloves in his hand. He was probably sweating beneath it. A smile on his face made Atlas overlook his odd appearance.

Atlas was a bit surprised, but eager to sell the art he had just drawn. He thought he shouldn’t waste this piece of work, so with a bit of a smile, Atlas asked for double the value he usually charged.

The strange man, without hesitation or bargain, took out his wallet, shoved the money into Atlas’s hands, and took the art — neatly packed with sheets and ropes — before walking away quickly.

Atlas was happy. He got money for something he thought was a mere waste of time. But something felt strange — the man’s dressing, his weird smile, the way he forced the money into Atlas’s hands. He should be a prankster, or maybe he was in a hurry. He didn’t look like either. Still, it was a good deal for Atlas. He was happy.

The day ended well for him. He had dinner, went back to his apartment, scrolled on his phone, and as usual, slept around 11.

The dream came again. The same dream he had yesterday. It was Atlas — he was the one pointing the gun. He knew it all along. But that wasn’t the problem here.

It was the man in front of him.

This time, he started speaking.

“You were happy… I saw. Leave me,”
he said, tears rolling down his face.

Atlas lowered the gun, freeing him. The man kneeling was the same man who had come earlier in the morning to buy the art. He stood up, went inside the Tesla, and drove into the fog.

7 in the morning, Atlas woke up. He knew it was the continuation of yesterday’s dream. But he couldn’t recognize the face of the man in front of him. He thought it was just a weird dream continuation.

The problem wasn’t with Atlas. It was with the man who came to buy the art.

He is living two lives. He is getting stuck in people’s dreams — those he meets in real life. His life is in chaos.

His name is Hanu. He is probably in someone’s dream now, trying not to get killed.

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