As soon as my head hit the pillow on a night I was him. You must dream, we all dream at some point in our lives, even fluffy animals dream. Dreams are ideas which reside deep inside our mind and little do people know, dreams are matter from the universe, from dead bodies, from wasted minds. Whatever a person had lived and experienced is a memory and when that person dies for whatever reason, the memory is obliterated as the mind rots or is burned. The memories are cast out into matter and float around the universe until another person is born. I just happen to be experiencing the life of magic every single night of my life. This person is not from our planet, I don’t know what planet he was from but I certainly know everything about the guy. When he died he was a Master Wizard, an honour bestowed on him by his fellow Mystics. God, what am I saying? This man was just a character, born in my subconscious, he was fantastic in a way nobody else could be. He saved lives and risked his own and had the mind of a genius without even showing it.

I put my head on my pillow and closed my eyes’; dreaming about this character was almost a need now the dreams were gripping. I needed to be there, I wanted it more than I wanted my next breath, but I knew I had work tomorrow. I just wanted to be him once more.

Fires were burning around me; the dragon flew around the castle, trying to destroy the little creature that was pestering it. This wasn’t a job for a Wizard; it was a job for a Knight. The top of the grey stone castle crunched and fell sideways, crushing part of the deep dark forest. I sucked in a breath and sighed, I needed to get rid of it, and just thinking of the correct spell was the difficult part. I ran down the spiral staircase, stairs such as these made me incredibly dizzy. I felt the side of the tower heat up, the dragon was breathing fire in my direction, which meant it had heard my movements and knew where I was. The hunt was on, I was the mouse and it was the eagle. I reached the bottom of the stairs and came to a wooden door. I tried the handle of the heavy door and realised it was locked. I kicked the door and sighed at my stupidity; I looked at my wooden staff in my hand and didn’t even think it over. The tower was history anyway; the Mystic’s won’t miss a simple guard post.