I associate the space from when you close your eyes and start to dream with how I felt diffusing alone in the cosmic sea. A considerable amount of time passes as there are no true indicators of time passing.

There is no sunrise for you to sleep past to wake up to a gentle light of a clear sky to tell you its day time. No full moon for you to set mine. It’s night, or if you should be afraid of werewolves. The answer is sometimes, if they have non-priced clothes on, you are safe. If they are ripped, run for your life. Unless it’s a style choice, then that werewolf is cool. If you can’t tell the difference, then maybe you're not as cool as you think.

I have two thoughts on where dreams come from.

One is that dreams are a looking glass to another dimension, but more intimate. That’s why things never make sense in these dreams but feel familiar. You experience this all through the eyes of an alternate you.

This gives the dreamer an illusion of freedom of choice. Imagine you are in a car with self-driving, but they let you spin the wheel, but it doesn’t do anything. It feels good moving the wheel, but the car stays in its lanes.

Those thoughts, the rationale for those actions of who you are viewing. There are their choices, but you feel the idea of progression, but you don’t. Make the choice. You are seeing what they did, hearing the thoughts that rationalized their choices in your head. It’s a feeling of intimacy, but one-sided. Your hand feels the glove, but to the glove, you are another hand.

Now, let's get less depressing and go to theory two.

The second idea about dreams is that they are a combination of past memories. The faces you see are either people you know or strangers you might have gotten a glimpse of, seen on TV as an extra, or anything really. Dreams are an amalgamation of what was on your mind that day or week or tangential to a story you have seen.

Basically, dreams are messy soups in which the broth is made of a blended liquid of everything that has happened to you. The chunky ingredients are recent events and thoughts in your mind. If you ever peed yourself in a dream, that means your dream soup was extra brothy that night.

I believe both are true. The true talent, the ability that will distinguish every person from those with true insight into the universe, is the person who can tell the difference between the two types when they wake up. Bonus points if you can do it during the dream.

Being as in tune to the universe as I am, I can tell I am currently dreaming. It’s obvious because I am on a ship. The layout is familiar to me, but it isn’t an amalgamation of other ships like it usually is.

The faces of the people are familiar to me. They all were a part of a ship I was on one way or another. However, it doesn’t take long for me to recognize what all the faces I recognize have in common. They are all dead.

So, I assume the ones I don’t recognize might fall in the same camp. One is a pale gentleman with long, straight emerald hair. He was thin with his cheeks sunken in.  He stood at an impressive seven feet tall.  He acts as the ship’s doctor. His nurse was his daughter. She has the same hair and piercing red eyes as her father.  They spoke to me with respect and carried themselves in a regal manner.

They spoke to me about how I should be less reckless in fights and how health, above all else, matters most. They said there is no such thing as eternal life, so i shouldn’t act like I have it. I told them I didn’t think I could die, and the young girl replied.

“If you think you can’t die, why do you dodge attacks from enemies.” Leave it to a kid to stump me. I finished my check-up and left.

Next was the ship’s church. I am stunned to see it here, dream or not. Normally, every square inch matters in a vessel, and to see a space dedicated to worship is new for me. It wasn’t to me, which is fine. Just because I am a god doesn’t mean I am the right fit for everyone.

I don’t remember the god's name, just their long red hair made of feathers draping down her back. She was wearing a dress made of sliver stars and the darkness of space.

The priest standing at the podium was a gentle older man. He is older by other people’s standards, as he is young in my eyes. No matter how many lines he gets on his face,  he is still human with their shorter life spans. He had short black hair with white strands specked about; the same goes for his beard.

What stood out was that he was missing his ring finger on his left hand. He spoke of his devotion to his goddess and told me to ease up on my claims of divinity. His voice was warm and welcoming.

I left to find the ship's navigator and find out where we were going. The navigator was a bald man with a well-kept beard. He even had a cool scar on his eyebrow and right hand. He was dressed in fine clothes and had a satchel to his side. He told me it was up to the Captain to share that information. His demeanor was collected, if not a bit cold.

“I say enjoy the trip.” His voice was deeper than expected, and it carried a commanding presence. “So many are worried about getting to the destination, not spending time looking up at the stars.” If I didn’t know he was the navigator, I would assume he was the Captain because of how he carried himself.

The navigator pointed me in the direction of the captain's quarters. I knocked on the door, ready to ask for the destination. When the door opened, a cold chill went down my body. It was a face I recognized and would love to forget. Cran held the door open for me, smiling.

“Welcome, Cid. What do we owe the pleasure? Wait!”  Crane’s face filled with worry. “Did I forget to give you your portion from our last job? I’m so sorry. I swore I did. What was your due portion? Let me get it for you.”

“No, no, it's not that,” I replied unsettled. “So I wanted to talk about our next destination.”

“Oh, then, you want to talk to the Captain. I know, but he wanted to keep this place hush-hush from the crew.  Come in, come in. You can ask the Captain himself. I know it's tight-lipped, but you know he has a soft spot for you.”

Crane steps aside. The captain's quarters are made of the same material as the rest of the ship: regular wood and slightly above-average furniture. It was arranged to make it look more elevated than the rest of the ship, even though it was the same as every other room in the ship. The standouts are the numerous items and knickknacks scattered about and the enormous portal oh himself in the middle of the room.

This face is fresh in my mind. I recognized it the moment I saw red hair reaching past his ears, a George face contrasted by the wicked look in his eyes. His voice reached across the room and gripped my soul. Crimson is sitting in the Captain's chairs, adorned in a fine white shirt, expensive rings, and a golden necklace.

“Oh, Cid.  What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you? Wait… were you not paid?”

A burning heat coursed through my body as I relived every slash, every stab. My hand goes down my chest, reliving the path his knife took when he had me pinned to the door.

My vision gets blurred. The room spins as the strength leaves my legs. Crimson jumps from his chair.

“CId, are you okay? You don’t look well.” Crimson says, walking toward me.

I drop to my knees as the room goes dark. I can barely stay conscious as the room closes in. Crimson grabs my shoulders as he screams.

“Stay with me, Cid! Stay with me. Crane, get the doctor,” Crimson shouts as everything goes black. The noise fades away. I revert to my small slime form as all feeling fades. I feel nothing, as if I don’t exist.

A sharp metal stabs into my body. I can feel the metal slowly dive into my body. Darkness, a voice unable to take form as the words blur, but there is a light that takes shape. Its hues of blue and purple metal are sticking out of me, and a blurred visage in front of me, with a golden light shining from behind this person.

I can tell it is a person. I hear their words again.

“You are a god.”

Then I woke up.