The One Where Sleep Is Bored

The realm between waking and dreaming was his domain. Suspended where time stands still and the laws of physics don’t apply, it made the ideal base for running his operation. No inspections. No safety audits. No IRS.

And it was terribly boring.

Which reminded him.

“Drzemota, isn’t it time for the half-yearly report?” he said, addressing his assistant, who until then had been lazily dozing in the corner. The creature raised her head and thought for a moment.

“Technically… I think it’s September on Earth, so he’s late.”

He didn’t have to say who he was. They both knew. Sleep thought for a moment.

“That’s not like him. Has something happened lately?”

“Has something happened, my lord?” Drzemota asked, surprised, in that voice which seemed to say seriously, you’re asking? But she had known her master long enough to know that yes, he was seriously asking. So she calmly went on. “You released Jerry, Arcadia fell. Things got complicated. So yes, we may presume that something has happened.”

Sleep fell into thought again. It was one of the activities he was best at. Falling into thought. Not necessarily thinking.

“But that doesn’t mean he can just ignore his duties like that. Please make sure it gets noted in his annual evaluation.”

“I’ll pass it on to the HR department.”

“Do that, and I’ll pop into his dream. See what he has to say.”

Drzemota nodded and headed for the exit, and Sleep began the ritual. The other gods were eternally laughing at him because he could only move through the human world by way of dreams, but he had always been proud of it – for the land of dreams was the only place where all people were stripped of their masks. Only he, and only there, could see their true faces. And use them, of course. For the good of the heavens. Not his own. Sleep wasn’t like that. No.

He rested his head against the headboard of his throne and closed his eyes. He focused on the memory of his apostle, ready to enter his dream as always, unannounced and without asking. He felt the air around him vibrate and… stop.

There was no dream on the other side.

Sleep clicked his tongue.

“So that’s how you want to play it, boy?”

Sleep wasn’t angry. Not yet. He knew perfectly well that everyone had to go through their Judas phase, and he was patient.

When Drzemota came back from the HR department, Sleep already had another task for her.

“My boy is rebelling and I’m bored. I remember that in one of his dreams he used this little something for looking at all sorts of things, could you ask Gamayun to get it for me?”

“My lord, I’m afraid… you won’t have any signal here.”

Sleep looked at her, surprised and utterly unaware of what she was talking about. “So have her bring the signal too.”

His word was final, so Drzemota merely sighed and withdrew once more in search of Gamayun. She knew how the goddess would react to Sleep’s preposterous order, but she also knew she would get it done. Both the strange device and this whole signal.

Sleep lounged comfortably on his throne. He intended to prove to his apostle that he was a strong and independent god and he certainly wouldn’t call first. Whatever that meant.

Gamayun really did know her job. Less than a quarter of an hour had passed when a figure with the body of a bird and the head of a woman appeared before Sleep.

“My lord, I have what you asked for. The phone and the signal.”

“Ah, so that’s what this human artefact is called… And this whole signal… what exactly is it?”

“Magic.”

“Ah, yes. Magic. Useful thing.”

Sleep didn’t probe, didn’t question the fact that the human world was, after all, painfully devoid of magic. Focused solely on his new toy, he accepted Gamayun’s explanations as sufficient. When the phone finally landed in his hands, Sleep examined it with almost the same unction with which some people look at vinyl editions of instrumental recordings of their favourite bands. Almost.

“And what next?”

“You have to unlock it, my lord… And… Ah…” Gamayun knew what that meant. Teaching Sleep to use a phone would be worse than teaching Jerry that violence isn’t the answer, but in the end they managed to initiate him into the arcana of digital technology.

More or less. Gamayun left marked for life by a new trauma, and her place was taken by Drzemota, who stood by her master, ready to patiently answer his next questions.

And Sleep… He leaned over the phone in speechless wonder. The whole world stood open before him. All knowledge within arm’s reach, answers to questions he had never asked, stories of people that inspired, photographs of natural wonders, records of human creativity… And all of eternity to fathom this small, compact Library of Alexandria.

Out of the corner of her eye, Drzemota noticed that Sleep was typing something, starting to scroll through the phone, and with every passing second his face was growing glummer.

“Something here doesn’t add up.”

“What, my lord?”

“I typed Sleep Token into this artefact, but only his pictures come up, and mine aren’t there…”

“My lord, no one has seen you. He is your emissary.”

“Yes, yes, but… That doesn’t seem right. It’s written here that he wrote it…”

“And didn’t he?”

“Well, technically speaking, yes, but I’m the one who inspired him,” he said, clearly displeased at how little attention was being paid to him, still studying more results from the Internet. “And what’s this whole lore?”

“How do I explain it… A body of knowledge about a given world, usually a fictional one, you could call it mythology.”

Sleep didn’t comment on these words in any way, immersed in a world of ever more search results. Minutes passed, his expression grew more and more gloomy, and Drzemota patiently remained at his side. At last the silence was broken by another question:

“Why can’t I open this? It’s written that I have to log in? What does that mean?”

Drzemota leaned in slightly to glance at the phone screen.

“You have to create an account to log in to this site.”

“An account, you say? Do I have to use magic again?”

“You could say that. I’ll show you, my lord.” The woman began patiently explaining the next steps to Sleep, guiding him through the process like Weles guiding the souls of the dead into the afterlife.

“Now you have to choose a username.”

“Sleep, obviously.” He typed in his name, and the message username taken seared a permanent scar into his immortal soul. “What do you mean, taken? Who dared?”

“Please try Sleep2.”

When user sleep080916 graced the server with his divine presence, Sleep was content.

“Vessel greeted me. Right away. You see? He was waiting for me.”

“My lord, it’s a bot.”

“What?”

“Magic,” Drzemota sighed.

“My apostle is proving more and more useful with every day. I may even forgive him this little revolt.”

Sleep sank into the world of the Internet again. He began browsing section after section, devouring message after message, soaking up the endless flow of proof of his followers’ devotion. Eventually his attention turned towards the Lore section. And his face grew glum again.

“User Deep with Sleep writes that my relationship with Vessel is toxic,” he said, more to himself than to Drzemota, and began clumsily clicking at something.

“My lord, what are you doing?”

“Answering him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sleep clicked send, clearly pleased with himself. He didn’t say what he had written. He waited for the follower to admit he was right, apologise and express his gratitude for being set straight. A quiet sound from the phone signalled an incoming message. Sleep glanced at it, and his face slowly fell, taking on a look of bewilderment.

“Drzemota, what does you have been kicked from the server mean?”