《The Dream Linguist》 Prologue: Dream Linguist and Dreamer Hello Linguist, I hope this letter finds you well and happy dearest Linguist. I am the Dreamer, I always have been. The same that you were always the Dream Linguist. I¡¯ve written this letter to you as an introductory remark to help remind us of our beginnings so that we do not lose ourselves in this world where we can take nothing for certain. I am very worried about this as I¡¯ve been finding myself questioning our correspondence, and I hope that this may alleviate some of our doubts about who we are and what we are here to do. I am the Dreamer. The dreams I dream are abstract and uncanny, cryptic and esoteric. I lack the wisdom to interpret most of them, but as the Dreamer I must be able to. For with every dream I fail to interpret I lose myself as a Dreamer. Existence and meaning are codependent. When I am unable to give meaning to my own dreams, my dreams cease to exist. As a Dreamer, without any dreams, I too will cease to exist. And so I seek your counsel, Linguist, so that I may continue to be the Dreamer. You are the Dream Linguist. You know this already. With your vast knowledge, you can see meaning and finish dreams, completing them and fulfilling their existence. I know that you yourself dream often and that you often find yourself seeking means to interpret your own dreams. Which is why I am ever so grateful to you, that you would find the time to assist me in the interpretations of my own. Even despite your own difficulties in interpreting your far more consequential and complicated dreams, you cared to assist me with mine and I will forever be indebted to you. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. There is only one more thing you should know about the semantics of my dreams. Perhaps this will help with your interpretations. Unlike some others, my dreams have no objective meaning. There is no need to worry about whether you are correct or not, so long as a meaning is given, the dream will continue to thrive. Yes, it seems that the large majority of the dreams seem to point towards a specific meaning and were created with such intention, but so long as an interpretation is consistent and plausible, it is sufficient. It¡¯s completely fine if you deem a dream to be completely unsolvable, after all, it is my own responsibility to interpret them. But I pray that these simplistic problems will allow you a break from your own, and that you will be able to enjoy analysing and solving them. I promise to make them as interesting and unique as possible. Yours truly, Dreamer. Letter A: The Urban Skyscape Dear Linguist, I come once again with a dream for interpreting. The clouds are the earth of this place. An endless azure expanse extending further than the elusive horizon, this ethereal scenery is interrupted only by a single thing. On first inspection, it appears to be a land long forgotten. A dilapidated steampunk-esque utopia. Machinery and rust cover every inch of this place and yet rather than corrupting the beautifully pure landscape, the contrasting foreground makes it feel somewhat more complete. This castle-in-the-sky aesthetic is what your next character finds themself in. This time your character is not alone. There are many beings on this land, to call them ¡®humans¡¯ would be far too big a stretch, yet the term ¡®people¡¯ suits them well. Their physical appearance mimics that of a normal person, but there is an eerie lifelessness to their eyes, yes, it would not be inappropriate to speculate that there indeed is no life to them at all. And such a creature is your character. No movement or sound is observed on this land empirically, but your character seems to be communicating to others through a sophisticated transcendent network that leaves no physical trace of its existence. There is a content smile on their face, but not in the pure sense. It¡¯s more of the face you make when you use a satisfactorily witty remark against an agitating opponent, but it¡¯s not quite smug, as it does seem to showcase the smallest amount of true contentedness. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. That is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things you should know about the situation. Statements about the network that were written and recorded before the lands fell silent. Perhaps these will help with your interpretation. One. The network is built upon memories, some genuine, some fabricated. Nothing else exists within the network. The people aren¡¯t communicating per se but the interactions between the memories are so appropriate that it appears as if they truly are communicating. Two. There are no new memories. It¡¯s almost as if the content of the network was predetermined, and all that the people were doing now is synthesising them together to create or perhaps mimic an artificial simulation of a community. My only insight into this is that perhaps this means that whatever really created these memories is dead. Yet in their death, it seems they have attempted to leave a living legacy of sorts, if you could really call this life. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? What happened on the island prior to this? Best wishes, Dreamer. Letter B: The Man and His Corner Dear Linguist, I have another dream for you to interpret. A man crouches down in the corner of a concrete room. Hugging his legs and staring blankly between them, he sees a brutal grey shade that greets his vision any place he cares to turn his head. Like an underground parking lot but much smaller and where everything is simply uniform ground. The walls and roofs too are ground. All surfaces here are equal. A dim light emanates from an unknown source somewhere above the man¡¯s head. This is the situation you find your character in. How he appeared here or where he even is are questions you fail to be able to answer as there are no doors, windows or anything to enter or exit through. At the very least you know this room can¡¯t be real as there is light yet you see no light source. But these aren¡¯t questions that concern you. All you care for is the future. You must know what he does next. The man himself seems to be in a solemn daze. Not exactly sad or depressed, but perhaps just thinking. It seems that he favours that corner, and holds some strange adoration for it. Although all eight corners of the room are identical and he has the free will to sit in any he pleases, he chooses that one corner and has not moved from it since the moment of his decision. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. That is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things you should know about the man. Occurrences which break the tedium that have been recorded before. Perhaps these will help with your interpretation. One. Every now and then, the man clasps his hands together and closes his eyes. When he does, the light grows brighter, illuminating more and more of his corner, but less and less of all the other corners of the room. Two. Your character is not one man, but eight, each in a different corner of this cuboid concrete prison. Each man¡¯s actions mirroring each other, with the same occurrences happening in each of their corners. Each man is also identical to each other, in the same likeness that their corners are identical to one another¡¯s. But we assume the eight men together as a single character, as there is nothing to differentiate them from each other, and there never will be. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? What will happen next? Sincerely, Dreamer. Letter C: A Cat on Trial Dear Linguist, Here is an unusually dynamic dream that I require assistance with interpreting. We find ourselves in a grand courtroom with lacquered wood, cream pillars and magnificent red curtains draping downwards from a place too high to see. All the people here are regular humans, acting uniformly and professionally as their circumstances require of them. All except the cat of course. Sitting on the dock is a white and grey British shorthair, dignified in stature and prosecuted. This pretentiously formal setting is where we find our feline character. Throughout the dream, the cat is tried and found guilty of theft. The cat sat in silence listening to the trial, not understanding the importance of it all but obliging anyway with infrequent replies. Hundreds of contemptuous eyes lay their gaze on the cat, to the spectators, he deserves to be convicted for far more. Eventually, the cat is dragged off to serve his time, but even then, the cat seems completely apathetic. To every person in the room, the cat is despicable. Undeserving of comfort. Undeserving of pity. Undeserving of mercy. However, the cat couldn''t care less about what they thought of him because all he knows is to do what he does. He holds stubbornly that a cat is a cat and cannot be expected to be anything else, no matter how one might object or threaten them to act differently it will all be in vain. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. That is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things you should know about the situation. These are the differing views of the cat and the crowd as were told prior to the case. Perhaps these will help with your interpretation. One. The crowd believes the cat has a duty of care over all of them. A duty not to act in a manner that disadvantages them in any way and to be completely considerate of them. If the cat must, it should alter itself completely to cater to the expectation of not hurting anyone. It is unacceptable to simply be content with yourself, if you bring great torment to all those around you. Two. The cat believes the duty of care is ridiculous. To consider the needs of all people in the crowd would be impossible and would cause himself to lose his genuineness. There are far too many requisites to please and to chase after one would mean the loss of another. They must simply learn to tolerate his nature, no matter the pain it causes them. This is not a fault of his own, but the fault of the expectations that were forced on him. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? Who is in the right? Letter C: A Cat on Trial (Attachment) Here is an excerpt from the transcript of the cat¡¯s trial to aid your interpretation. This was taken from the section in which the cat was cross-examined by the plaintiff. P: So you admit that the diary was in your possession thereafter. C: Meow. P: Could you please tell me where the diary is now? C: ¡­ P: Well, you state in your testimony that you no longer know where it is. Would I be correct in assuming so then? C: (Yawns.) P: I will assume the testimony is correct. Which means you would be unable to return the diary to its rightful owners. C: Meow. P: You are aware of the frustration the public experiences every time they hear this right? Every week without cessation you are involved in a new incident. The destruction of an urn, the injury of a toddler- D: Objection. How is this relevant? P: I promise I¡¯m going somewhere with this if you could just give me a few more minutes. J: I¡¯ll allow it. Objection overruled. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. P: Thank you. C: (Yawns.) P: Time and time again you prove that you are completely negligent to the emotional well-being of others. With everything you do, you cause grief to the wider society and never is there even a hint of remorse shown. You state in your testimony that up until very recently you did not understand what a diary is or the importance of this specific diary correct? C: Meow. P: Well you are now aware that the diary contained the last memories of my client¡¯s late daughter correct? C: Meow. P: Would it not be fair to say then that through your ignorance to conduct yourself in a manner that does not bring grief to others, that is to include, informing yourself of what might bring great emotional distress to others, that you are negligent and breach a duty of- D: Objection. You are enforcing human expectations on a cat. Do you really believe that he has the capacity to do that? J: I¡¯ll sustain the objection. We are addressing theft right now. Not negligence. P: One last thing. You never mentioned in your testimony why you did this. None of the incidents seem to benefit you in any way. Nor do they seem to be emotionally motivated. Why would you do something like this? C: ¡­ P: Do you simply not care for people? C: ¡­ P: Is it really simply as you stated, ¡®I am who I am¡¯? C: Meow. P: I see. I have no further questions. Letter D: Do the sleepless dream? Dear Linguist, I¡¯ve found myself in quite a strange dream. I¡¯m walking alone in the snow. The street lights dimly illuminate the area around me but beyond them, I can see nothing. People walk past and across me periodically, but they don¡¯t acknowledge me. Perhaps this is for the better. In fact, I¡¯m sure I prefer it this way. The streets are all lined with houses, and from their windows comes a warm and comforting glow. Although I never saw any movement or heard any sounds from them, I¡¯m convinced that there is life in those houses. Even if you were to walk in there and come back out to tell me that the houses were empty I wouldn¡¯t believe you. That¡¯s the sort of feeling the houses gave off. I continued to walk, never stopping, never getting the slightest bit tired. Interestingly, despite the snow, I never once felt cold either. It was quite a tranquil experience. Simply wandering around without knowing where you are or where you¡¯re going. With no beginning and no destination, it seems far easier to take notice of the journey. You notice the cracks in the walls and the weathered-down, half-torn posters on the utility poles. You notice people¡¯s expressions and how they struggle with their phones through their gloves. You notice yourself, and you become hyper-aware of your own thoughts and presence. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. It was these things that clouded my mind as I slowly approached the darker end of the street, trodding slowly, as if reluctant to continue forward. Then I began to hear the noises. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear people screaming. Their footsteps were erratic and the sounds kept coming closer and farther away. The sounds made me tired. I had only noticed them now but it felt as if I had been listening to them ceaselessly for eternity. Then just as soon as it faded to black, it faded back to white. That is the condition of the character at present. Unfortunately, I do not remember anything else of much importance that helped me make sense of the situation. But there is one small thing I noticed. Perhaps this will help with your interpretation. The longer I walked, the more painful and dry my eyes began to feel. I could not blink. Or maybe I simply forgot that I could. Regardless I simply just could not take my eyes off what was going on in front of me. Whether willingly, subconsciously or forced, I kept my eyes glued to the beauty of the scenery and especially of the houses. Even as I write this now I miss the warmth of the houses. I hope I may be able to emulate that feeling someday. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? What was happening to me? I¡¯m so very tired. Letter E: Concerto Dear Linguist, Here is another dream I require your assistance in interpreting. Everything is falling apart. From the nosebleed seats to the stage itself, the whole concert room is lined with vines, moss and mould that spreads all along the floor like a carpet. Through one of the many holes in the roof comes a spotlight that rests on our character, presumably a musician of sorts. The young man¡¯s whole appearance contrasts immensely with the hall that surrounds him. He wears his spotless, jet-black suit confidently and each strand of his hair is put perfectly in its place atop his head. He is the only one in this place. But it doesn¡¯t feel very lonely, in fact, the same overgrowth that cripples the building seems to compensate for its decay with company. If it wasn¡¯t for all the destructive flora, this whole emptiness would have felt much more tragic and desolate, and so in a way, the degradation of this hall has made it a much more comforting setting for our character. Regardless, the perceived comfort of the environment does not change the fact that there will be no one to appreciate, applaud or even disapprove of his work. This is the scene we find our character in. Beginning the concert, he walks swiftly across the stage, away from his first spotlight, and into a larger one that sits perfectly accentuating his seat and the old grand piano. Despite all the theatrics, you can easily tell that this practised routine burdens him greatly. It¡¯s partly his posture, and partly his expression. In moments throughout the opening pre-performance, you can see his back arch briefly as he takes his seat, and you can see his face lose its neutrality as he turns towards the empty audience. He places his hands on the piano and finally, he begins. With clinical precision, he places his fingers onto the first few keys. And then the next few. And then the next. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. One chord after another the performance progresses and with each passing press of the keys the melody starts to feel even more ethereal. The music is nothing short of breathtaking, it¡¯s the type of music you would listen to on a stormy day, to contrast the cold chaos of thunder and rain. It¡¯s warm, it¡¯s peaceful, it¡¯s nostalgic, but not melancholic. Every note is imbued with all the emotions of the musician, and as tempos and dynamics change, you can feel how flawless yet deliberate each execution is. He keeps going and going playing the same melodies but adding different harmonies. He starts adding small alterations, a key change, an extra note a half-tone up, and as he does so you can feel his emotions more intensely. The tempo speeds up and you can start to feel its imperfections, you can almost physically hear his desperation and his frustration, but you can¡¯t see it in his face because it never changes while he plays; all you can see is his unwavering focus and his determination to get this performance right. This piece is coming to a close and it¡¯s made obvious by the tempo and the pitch and the fiery echos that reverberate around the hall and they keep rising and rising and rising and rising- and stop. Silence. A ringing in your ears. Then, softly, resolution. This is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things you should know about the situation. These were things I found to be quite unusual as I viewed the dream. Perhaps these will help with your interpretation. One. As the musician performed his piece, the interior of the hall began to degrade at an accelerating pace. You could see the vines grow and take hold of the chairs like a boa constrictor, and the mould spores grew even more prominent, blending in the formerly vibrant red and rich brown environment with the vines and other plants. I feel that in some way, the musician and his hall are connected in some way. Two. Just as my consciousness began to fade out from the dream I heard applause, but it was quiet and I could only make out a single pair of hands contributing to that applause. It would be strange for the musician to be applauding himself but there was truly no one else in the hall, and nothing I believe could have made that sound. So the source of that applause is something I cannot really be sure of. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? Why was the musician performing? Letter Collection A: To have a friend Dear Linguist, I¡¯m writing to you to thank you for your interpretations. Truly, without you, I would not be able to keep so many of the dreams I have today. I appreciate especially your comments on my snow dream, as even though the dream¡¯s been given meaning, it still confuses me to this day. I¡¯ve had many dreams before that but none in which I myself was the character within it, so why this dream? Why at that time? I find myself being very curious and perhaps anxious about this when really I shouldn¡¯t have much reason to be. But anyway how are you doing? Have you had any particularly interesting dreams of your own lately? I¡¯d love to know if perhaps there¡¯s a dream that even the dream linguist has difficulty solving. It¡¯d also be a little funny to me.
Dear Linguist, I¡¯m sorry to bother you once again about the same dream but are you sure about the corners? If the corners were symbolic of religion then wouldn¡¯t it be more fitting if one of the corners were different from the others? After all surely one of them whether theistic or atheistic is bound to be correct right? Or maybe is that the point? Are you trying to imply that perhaps none of us are correct about how the world works? I suppose it might make sense that way but somehow it just feels wrong. I¡¯d greatly appreciate it if you could clear this up for me. Apologies, Dreamer.
Dear _____ [Dream Linguist], It appears that your letter addressed to ______[Dreamer] which was sent on 25/05/____ was lost during transportation. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. We sincerely apologise for the inconvenience this has caused and we are willing to fully refund the postage costs as well as discount the costs for your next three letters sent through ______. To confirm this and for further inquiries please contact ______. Once again, our sincerest apologies, ______.
Dear Linguist, I don¡¯t have a dream for you today but I do have an interesting experiment for you to try. Put yourself in a silent room, close your eyes and stand completely still. Try and describe how everything feels around you. How does the air feel when it¡¯s completely still? What can you taste? Can you hear that faint ringing that doesn¡¯t seem to come from anywhere? I found it pretty hard to describe what was essentially nothing and to be honest it frustrated me quite a bit. But it made me realise how much I appreciate being able to observe and experience things, and how grateful I am for the ability to be able to describe these things. If I had to live the rest of my life only being able to hear that uneasy, relentless ringing, or to not be able to feel anything but still air I might probably go insane. Despite the reputation chaos has I feel like maybe there¡¯s a reason why it exists. If there was no chaos would life feel like that experiment? I believe that I can only describe the things I observe because they are ¡®different¡¯. But I also believe that in some way, that these things are only different because of the existence of chaos. Although maybe ¡®chaos¡¯ isn¡¯t the right word either. Uncertainty maybe? Subjectivity even? But quite frankly I feel the word chaos encompasses the other two better. What¡¯s your opinion on all this?
Dear Linguist, ____________________________________________ r. Sneaze ________________________________________________________________ fte ____________________________________ can¡¯t ________________________________________________________________________ e it _______________________________________ _____________________ nothing more th _________________________________________ ________________________ wish ________________________________ loved ____________________________________________ maybe) _______________________ __________ase. Everything hurts. Chapter F: Choice? Dear Linguist, What do you think of this dream? A little girl sits on the edge of a hole in the floor, legs swinging above the abyss. Peering down into it you can see nothing, even if you were to shine a light into it you would see nothing, it absorbs everything. All light, all things, all beings, it selfishly takes it away and keeps it forever. There are only a few other things around the girl, one of which is a light bulb that dangles from a ceiling too far away to see. It weakly illuminates the floor around the hole and allows her to observe her own pale, phantom-like hands. Hands that, in the light, look as if they could pass through anything as if it wasn¡¯t there, her whole appearance really looks as if she could be a ghost because of the way the light reveals her. There are also curtains far off in the distance but the girl does not know that yet, all she can see is the light, the dark and the black-white checkered floor. It¡¯s obvious that she¡¯s thinking deeply; it makes sense as there¡¯s nothing much else to do. She could try to stand up and walk around, but there isn¡¯t much point to it, and that would mean leaving the safety of the only light source around her. After all who knows what awaits her in the darkness? She doesn¡¯t get hungry or tired here, in fact, she could stay here forever if she wanted. The only other choice she has of course is to let herself fall into the hole and see what happens, but the very thought of it is enough to give anyone vertigo. At one point. She resolves to stand up and explore the area. Perhaps there might be a better option somewhere out there around her. That¡¯s when the curtains start to close in. As she slowly brings herself to her feet, the curtains that were once an unreachable distance away from her start to approach her. Rushing at her in the same way a paper plane glides through the air but much, much faster. Eventually, she sees the curtains but by then they¡¯ve already stopped right in front of her, mere inches away from her face, standing imposingly and obstructing her way forward. Understandably, this shocks her, and as she takes a step backwards, she does so into that dark hole in the ground. With her whole weight shifted down into the abyss, she loses her balance completely. She struggles, trying to rectify this mistake by lunging herself forward and grasping at the floor that might save her. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. But she still falls. And she keeps falling. Further and further. Until she can no longer see the light. That very moment when that light disappears from her sight, she opens her eyes and finds herself sitting back in the very position she was in before she decided to stand. Perplexed, she stares down anxiously at her ghostly legs and the hole. Once again, they¡¯re swinging above the abyss. This is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things that you should know about this situation. Things about the nature of this place and what might happen if she chose something else. One. If she chose to drop herself into the abyss once again, the same thing would happen, she would open her eyes and find herself dangling above that cursed, pointless hole. She could do this another thousand times. Nothing would change. Even with another thousand, she would end up in the same place she was in the beginning. Confused, scared, and on the edge of the abyss. Two. If she chose to stand her ground as the curtains approached her and pushed through them into the other side, she would disappear completely. The curtains are heavy and would resist her efforts, it would push her back, warning her to not proceed any further, but she will eventually find the strength to pass through them. She will pass through them, and she will cease to exist here. She will disappear, and we will never see her again. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? What is the hole? Yours truly, Dreamer. Letter G: Apologies Dear Linguist, I¡¯m so sorry for the inconvenience but I had forgotten to send this with the last letter I sent out to you. Included is the transcript of part of the conversation between the two characters who disappeared on the wooden jetty at dawn. I promise I won¡¯t forget next time. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Sincerely, Dreamer. Letter H: Fortune Teller and Fortuneless (attachment) Here is an excerpt from the transcript of the character¡¯s conversation to aid your interpretation. This was taken from the latter part of their conversation, before the disappearance of the characters, but after the appearance of the cat. F: Sometimes it just feels like you can¡¯t know anything doesn¡¯t it? One moment we¡¯re looking up at the clouds, complaining about how it¡¯s gonna rain soon and the next moment a cat jumps on your face. T: That would¡¯ve been a lot more funny if I didn¡¯t just have my eyes clawed out. F: (laughing) You¡¯ll be fine, I can barely make out the scars in this light. But seriously, the worst part of all this is that it never ended up raining and the clouds are already gone. It¡¯s almost like they heard us and wanted to prove us wrong, maybe out of spite, maybe out of humour, who knows? Not us of course. We couldn¡¯t even make an accurate guess about the weather. T: I mean, It¡¯s not like we need to know either. For one, clouds don¡¯t feel things, for another, our plan was to just stay out here even if it rained, wasn¡¯t it? We would have just done the same thing either way. F: Yeah but isn¡¯t it a little annoying? Not being able to trust even your own knowledge? T: Not really. Not to me anyway. F: Why not? T: Well for one, I¡¯m still alive, so it¡¯s not like knowing nothing is gonna kill me ¡®cause by your logic I already know nothing and I¡¯m not dead yet. F: Sure but really? You¡¯re just satisfied with that? With not knowing anything? T: Somewhat. F: Wow. Good for you then. T: Yep. (A short silence, approximately a minute) T: I mean¡­ now that I think about it, it¡¯s less of ¡®being satisfied with knowing nothing¡¯ and more ¡®my guesses are good enough for me¡¯. F: Wow really? No way! It¡¯s almost as if most people¡¯s guesses are good enough for themselves! How else do we make decisions? T: Obviously they¡¯re not good enough for you. F: I¡¯m pretty happy with my guesses most of the time. T: Not just then. F: Huh? T: I mean like, with the clouds. F: Yeah, most of the time I said. T: Alright then I¡¯ll change my statement to ¡®My guesses are always good enough for me¡¯. F: Really? Even when they¡¯re completely wrong? T: Yeah, better than not guessing at all ¡®cause if I didn¡¯t my chance of being right becomes zero-percent instead of something-percent. F: I guess. T: Are you satisfied with that guess? F: Shut up. T: (laughing) I guess not. F: Seriously, shut up. T: Fine fine but I mean being able to guess well obviously does help. Makes you feel like you know something, and even if we can¡¯t actually know anything then at the very least we can try to get the same outcome as if we did know something. F: Which is why I complained about the clouds. T: Yeah, exactly. Although to be honest, I sorta knew it wasn¡¯t gonna rain. F: Sure. T: I¡¯m serious. F: If you say so. What gave it away then? T: Just an intuition. I looked at the clouds and honestly, all I can say is that it just didn¡¯t feel like it was going to rain. Same with the cat, I kinda saw it coming but I couldn¡¯t really do much about it. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. F: That¡¯s so stupid. T: I know, and of course, I couldn¡¯t possibly convince you, but I promise that¡¯s the truth. F: Fine. Let¡¯s make a bet then, guess what¡¯s gonna happen within the next hour and I¡¯ll believe your ¡®intuition¡¯. If not, I push you into the water. Are you fine with that or do you need me to make the bet a bit broader? T: Fine. Here¡¯s what I reckon¡¯s gonna happen. We¡¯re gonna keep arguing about all this certainty stuff, it¡¯s gonna rain again, and by the time the sun rises neither of us will be here. F: Wow. T: Yup. F: That¡¯s a little too specific. And creepy. Are you like¡­ ok? T: No idea, but that¡¯s the prediction. F: Well, great, you¡¯ve just forced me to stay here for another hour or so ¡®cause I¡¯m not losing this bet. In fact, what¡¯s stopping me from just choosing not to argue about that, or not say anything at all? T: I mean I still need it to rain, and for both of us to not be here by sunrise so I reckon you¡¯re pretty safe even if you do fulfil that first part. Besides, are we really just gonna sit here doing nothing for an hour? F: That¡¯s fair. You could probably just drag me away from here or something but I doubt it¡¯s going to rain. There¡¯s literally not a single cloud anywhere in the sky right now. T: Exactly. F: Fine. Then here¡¯s a question while we wait, how are you so sure of yourself? It feels like absolutely nothing bothers you about the future when in reality, well I mean, you claim to know what happens next but that¡¯s incredibly stupid so I¡¯m going to ignore that, in reality literally anything could happen to you within the next hour and you couldn¡¯t possibly guess it. Yet still you don¡¯t even seem slightly scared of what might happen to you. In a way, it¡¯s pretty admirable but at the same time, it makes zero sense. T: Well, ignoring the fact that I do know what happens next, excuse me for saying this but I feel it¡¯s less ¡®you¡¯re scared of what¡¯s going to happen next¡¯ and more ¡®you¡¯re scared that you won¡¯t be able to cope with what¡¯s going to happen next¡¯. For example, earlier when you thought it was going to rain your first instinct was to start complaining about it, about how we¡¯ll get completely soaked, and about how cold we¡¯ll get. In reality, there¡¯s nothing really bad about the rain itself, and if we didn¡¯t want to get wet then we could just find shelter or something. The difference between our perspectives I feel is that I know that I''ll be fine no matter what ¡®cause I have confidence that I¡¯ll be able to deal with what¡¯s to come and you¡¯re a bit less confident you could do the same. I¡¯m not saying you can¡¯t and I can. If a bear comes out from behind us instead of a cat this time, chances are I¡¯m probably not going to survive, but so what? I have faith in my guess that I¡¯ll be able to escape alive, if I¡¯m right, then I¡¯m alive. If I¡¯m wrong, then I¡¯m dead and my mistakes don¡¯t really matter anymore. If I¡¯m somewhere in between where I survive but pretty badly cut up then that¡¯s just how it is. As long as I¡¯m alive I can still make it up to myself for failing. F: I guess, but perhaps you¡¯re just a bit luckier than I am. You can only be wrong so many times before you lose that type of confidence. T: Better to have that confidence than to not. F: Obviously. The problem is I just can¡¯t. It¡¯s stupid to bet on a game you know you¡¯re more likely to lose than win. T: Well you¡¯re not really losing anything are you? You¡¯re just wrong and that¡¯s fine. F: I know that but my conscience doesn¡¯t. There¡¯s just something about that whole premise that I feel like I can¡¯t accept. I need that certainty. If something difficult is going to happen in the future then I need to know what it is. I need to be prepared for it or else I can¡¯t trust myself to be able to deal with it ¡®cause I¡¯ve failed more times than I succeeded. It just doesn¡¯t make sense. So it really annoys me that we can¡¯t say we know anything at all with real certainty ¡®cause that means when I prepare for the future there¡¯s a very real chance that everything I did to prepare was in vain. Then I¡¯m left to bear the full force of the future and if that future happens to be a little less than bearable then I¡¯m not going to be ok. That¡¯s a problem. Obviously. I¡¯m going to be beaten. I¡¯m going to be broken. I¡¯m going to lose a substantial amount of faith in everything. And I mean everything when I say everything. Reality, myself, others, the future, the past, the present, everything. You can¡¯t call this an exaggeration either because this is what has happened, and if it¡¯s happened already then what¡¯s stopping it from happening again? You can only be as certain about it not happening as you are about it happening ¡®cause again, you can¡¯t be certain about anything. And if that¡¯s the case then what¡¯s the point of me still being here? I don¡¯t want to go through all that again. You¡¯re probably going to say something like ¡®Just trust that it¡¯ll be ok in the end¡¯ and then appeal to your whole ¡®intuition¡¯ thing but that¡¯s just dumb. Look me in the eyes and tell me that I¡¯m supposed to believe that. It doesn¡¯t make sense right? (A short silence, approximately a minute) F: I wish that you were right, that all you need to do is trust that you¡¯re able to cope with what comes next but that¡¯s not how it works at all. It just doesn¡¯t. I don¡¯t know how to explain it. I wish I could explain it. I wish I could explain any of this but none of it makes sense. Every time I try to understand anything it feels like I¡¯m trying to interpret a text in a foreign language. I know that it means something but I don¡¯t know what that meaning is. I recognise a few words here and there and some words look similar to ones I know, but one wrong translation and the whole sentence changes completely. What if the text is a warning? An opportunity? A genius solution? A blatant lie? It¡¯s like the clouds from before; I thought it would rain but it didn¡¯t, one wrong assumption changed the outcome completely. I thought we were going to be cold and wet, I was prepared to run for shelter, yet one wrong assumption and our future is vastly different to what I interpreted it to be. I knew the clouds meant something, but evidently, I could never know what they meant for sure. Fine. I¡¯ll be honest, I¡¯m not annoyed that I can¡¯t trust my own knowledge, I¡¯m scared. I¡¯ve always been scared and it has always hurt so much. Please. Help me understand something, anything, I¡¯ll believe that intuition of yours if it tells me anything about what any of this means. I beg you. (A short silence, approximately a minute) F: Rain? Seriously? But where are the clouds? (A short silence, fifty-three seconds) F: Oh. That¡¯s so stupid¡­ F: Neither of us was real in the first place. F: Right? Letter I: Tichloch, Tichloch Dear Linguist, I can¡¯t get this sound out of my head. Ever since the last dream, I¡¯ve been hearing this incessant sound all day and all night without end. In every activity I do, I can focus on nothing but the sound. The unearthly, periodic sound that goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and I fear that it may not stop till the day I die. It follows me wherever I go, like that faint ringing from before, barely audible, lurking somewhere underneath all the sounds around me. Sometimes I can drown it out by filling my environment with noise; I still know it¡¯s there. I can feel it reverberating against the inner walls of my head, unisolable, but undeniably there. Perhaps if you help me find a new perspective on the dream it will help me to ignore the sound once again. This is not a place you want to be. The walls of the corridor are a sterile white and there is not a single blemish in any section of the wall. It¡¯s painfully bright. The tone of the four-thousand-kelvin lights that stretch across the entire length of the corridor does nothing to ease the pain. It only intensifies it. There are no windows, but there are many doors, most of which are locked. No one comes in or out through them but still, you know there are people on the other side. A single bench breaks the monotony, situated right in the middle of the corridor, filling out the space on the wall between a door and a small, framed picture of a cat. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. This is the situation you find your character in. The character himself is an old man who sits on the side of the bench that¡¯s closest to the door. The man, unlike their surroundings, moves constantly. Fidgeting, shuffling uncomfortably on the seat, occasionally standing up to walk and stare at the door before sitting down and continuing the whole cycle again. No one else walks past, and no other sound is heard throughout the whole space other than those made by the man, and the rhythm of a faint, unlocatable sound. At first, the sound is regular and steady. Marking out the seconds, one by one, without an error in tempo or in pitch. But as the dream progresses, very slowly, it begins to accelerate. An extra note gets added every few minutes, the note becomes two, then three, then four, and so on. As it gets faster the building also begins to shake visibly, but the man seems completely oblivious to it. He simply stares deep into the floor beneath him, his fingers restless almost as if pleading with the man to do something. But all it seems he can do is stay there, scratching his neck, squeezing his wrists, rubbing his eyes. The sound continues to become faster, the shaking continues to intensify. The whole corridor seems to be trembling at each beat of the sound. It gets to the point where it feels like the building is at the epicentre of an earthquake. The picture swings off the wall and shatters against the edge of the bench, glass pieces flying across the floor towards the man¡¯s feet, but still, he continues to fidget and stare, sometimes at the ground, sometimes at the door. Then all of a sudden, a different sound echoes through the halls of the motionless corridor. The doorknob turns and the door opens slowly. The shaking is gone. The sound is still there but is regular and steady once more. Nothing comes out through the door, so as he stands up, the man walks towards the door and peers in. The sound stops. That is the condition of the character at present. There are only two other things that you should know about this dream. Things about what happened before and after its commencement that seemed quite unusual. Perhaps these will help with your interpretation. One, going into the dream, I had felt strangely uneasy. Dreams don¡¯t often affect me physically and yet I couldn¡¯t help but feel quite anxious about this dream. I did not know what the dream was going to be about, or even that I was about to enter the dream, yet I could feel that something was not right about what was to come next. Now that I¡¯m past the dream, I can conclude that I might have been justified in my worries. Two, the last moments of silence I had was in the period between my exit from the dream and the cessation of the sound within the dream. As soon as I had fully exited the dream, I once again became painfully aware of the sound. Just like in the dream, it never went away, no matter where I went or what I did it would refuse to leave me and would stay hidden within the background of whatever else I could hear. Like white noise but more irregular and jarring, constantly ticking away at whatever pace it desired. Now tell me Linguist, what does this mean? How can I stop this?