" "That's what one kind of dreaming is for, yes. Rendering to long-term memory is one of the functions of REM sleep."
"That's rapid eye movement, right?"
"Yes."
"What other kinds of dreams are there?"
Mr. Mississauga tosses away the end of his smoke and begins the process of fetching and lighting another. Lightning flashes, distant thunder groans. "The kind you never remember. The kind that plays when the you in you is totally disconnected, during slow wave sleep."
"Do you remember those?"
"Yes."
"What are they like?"
Mr. Mississauga makes a sour face. "Did you ever have night terrors, as a child?"
"Like really bad nightmares? Nope, not me."
"Have you ever watched a dog dream?"
"Sure," she says, plucking pizzicato up the neck. "They chase stuff and bark in their throats. I guess they dream about dog things. Cats, and cars, and bones."
Mr. Mississauga shakes his head solemnly. "They're being trained."
A shiver runs along Aglakti's shoulders. "What do you mean? By who?"
Mr. Mississauga looks at her through the fire, his eyes swimming with reflections of its golden spires. "By their brains," he says. "It's the same with any of us. When we go into deep sleep our brain puts us through our paces. It runs training programs."
Lightning flashes. She whispers, "Training to do what?"
"To survive," says Mr. Mississauga heavily, then pauses as the thunder interrupts him. "Slow wave dreams are a very dark place, Aglakti. There's a reason we're not supposed to remember -- because it's damaging. It's too basic. It's too brutal. It's blood and panic, fight and flee."
"We fight?"
"Yes. We fight, we kill, we die. We rape. We're eviscerated, and we hold our warm, ruined organs in our hands. We jump and run, tear and chew. We are, in that place, nothing but animals."
She sneers and shakes her head. "What's the point?"
"Reflexes are primed, for when they might be called upon in the real world. Your muscles remember, so does your brain. Your mind, thankfully, does not."
Something occurs to Aglakti. She looks up again, her eyes welling with compassion. "...But you remember it all."
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" "That's what one kind of dreaming is for, yes. Rendering to long-term memory is one of the functions of REM sleep."
"That's rapid eye movement, right?"
"Yes."
"What other kinds of dreams are there?"
Mr. Mississauga tosses away the end of his smoke and begins the process of fetching and lighting another. Lightning flashes, distant thunder groans. "The kind you never remember. The kind that plays when the you in you is totally disconnected, during slow wave sleep."
"Do you remember those?"
"Yes."
"What are they like?"
Mr. Mississauga makes a sour face. "Did you ever have night terrors, as a child?"
"Like really bad nightmares? Nope, not me."
"Have you ever watched a dog dream?"
"Sure," she says, plucking pizzicato up the neck. "They chase stuff and bark in their throats. I guess they dream about dog things. Cats, and cars, and bones."
Mr. Mississauga shakes his head solemnly. "They're being trained."
A shiver runs along Aglakti's shoulders. "What do you mean? By who?"
Mr. Mississauga looks at her through the fire, his eyes swimming with reflections of its golden spires. "By their brains," he says. "It's the same with any of us. When we go into deep sleep our brain puts us through our paces. It runs training programs."
Lightning flashes. She whispers, "Training to do what?"
"To survive," says Mr. Mississauga heavily, then pauses as the thunder interrupts him. "Slow wave dreams are a very dark place, Aglakti. There's a reason we're not supposed to remember -- because it's damaging. It's too basic. It's too brutal. It's blood and panic, fight and flee."
"We fight?"
"Yes. We fight, we kill, we die. We rape. We're eviscerated, and we hold our warm, ruined organs in our hands. We jump and run, tear and chew. We are, in that place, nothing but animals."
She sneers and shakes her head. "What's the point?"
"Reflexes are primed, for when they might be called upon in the real world. Your muscles remember, so does your brain. Your mind, thankfully, does not."
Something occurs to Aglakti. She looks up again, her eyes welling with compassion. "...But you remember it all."
Mr. Mississauga nods."