I am in Delirium. It is a fevered world of insanity, and psychosomatic images. A river cuts through the barren, cracked ground that I walk upon. It is called Insanity, although its other names include Lunacy or Obsession. I follow the river Insanity, just as I have done so for thousands of years. Just as I follow the rivers in all the other dreamworlds- Daydream, Slumber or Dying, to name a few. The river of Daydream- Illusion is its name- is my favourite. Slow and lazy, it coils through the grass, and is rarely polluted by anything dark or hidden.

The river Insanity is a different matter. It carries all the fevered imaginings of the Conscious World- the real world, which creates all these other ones. Any time the humans dream, sleep or imagine, their visions filter into these worlds I travel. Delirium is the worst, although some would argue that Dying is. But at least the river Styx in Dying is peaceful, even with all the last visions floating through it like debris. Life flashing before people’s eyes, which are visions, and therefore belong in these dreamworlds.

But these dreamworlds are made of nothing solid, nothing real. It is all mist or fog, and can disappear if the humans of the Conscious World wish it to. I as well, will disappear if they do. For all the things that create these worlds- imagination, dreams, fantasies- all things that live in the human mind, make me what I am. I am the physical guardian of these worlds, its traveler and protector. They call me Fantasy, sometimes Dream or even Imagination. I live in the illusions that humans create, which become these worlds. I am ever present in the thoughts of the Conscious World, and their wonder of things not real. Because it is in the human nature, or spirit as they call it, to dream.

I am Dream, just as I am Fantasy or Imagination.

Today- although time passes strangely in these dreamworlds- I have a task. Another allegory like me is roaming these lands. Although it has many names, it is usually known as Fact. Fact is my greatest enemy. He (because although we allegories have many forms, we generally remain in just one) is built from the science of the Conscious World. Its knowledge and advancements. While such things are good and useful, they discourage fantasy. Every time Fact grows stronger, I grow weaker. It is an age old battle, one that will probably last until the Conscious World ends, and we disappear along with the humans.

So I follow the river Insanity, and ignore the maniac cries and laughter that sprout from it. Then something catches my attention. It is a ghostly little girl, holding a long bloodied knife. Her eyes are wild and red. I know that somewhere in the Conscious World, a human is dreaming this. Their disillusions take bodily form here in Delirium. But the vision cannot hurt me, because it is not real. And although neither am I- not real as in a person- I am far more powerful than it will ever be. I pass on, quietly.

I search every corner of Delirium, but Fact is nowhere to be found. So, with half attentiveness for the deliriums going on around me, I raise my fingers. A gray light lifts from it, and then I touch something semi-solid. It is the wall between the allegory dreamworlds. There is a crack running through the middle, as there has always been a crack. Because Daydream, Slumber, Delirium or Dying are really not all that different. They are all dreams- they are all some form of me.

The crack rips underneath my fingers. An invisible door opens. I cannot see it, but I feel its presence. My feet bring me through, and then Delirium is behind me. I close up the wall easily- sealing is easier than opening- and look around. Slumber is no different than the last time I was here, although the dreams around me vary.

The river Sleep flows at my feet, gurgling softly like a lullaby. To the right are typical, everyday dreams. Mostly romantic fantasies, which I lost interest for long ago. But the left is more interesting. It is where the abnormal dreams go, nightly visions of grandeur or eccentricity. For a moment, I watch a few of them play out. Often I wonder what the humans who dream these are like. I have never met any of the people whose dreams I protect. I have seen their madness, their visions, their fantasies, their last moments, but I have never met them. Because they themselves never come to these worlds- only their dreams. It is a detached existence I lead, as Fantasy, protector of all things imaginary.

Fact is somewhere here in Slumber. I could feel it. His odor of machinery leaves a recognizable trail. Through the gray mists that hang over the river Sleep, I walk. Every once in a while, I stop to stare at a vision, but never for long. Right now, I have more important things to do, then satisfy my curiousity about humans. I have Fact to hunt down, for the sake of my existence. Throwing the misty gray hood down to my shoulders, I am a predator.

Once Fact and I were not all that different. Because scientific theories, or knowledge all come from speculation. Or imaginings, which is my domain. But then they blossom, and leave these dreamworlds. Fact takes over then, and with glee. He loves to see me lose.

There he is, curiously watching a vision of a human boy riding on a motorcycle. I have seen it before- the boy in question has dreamed it several nights in a row. Fact seems oblivious to my presence, but I am content to wait. Finally, after what feels like a millennia, he turns around.

“Well, well, well. How are you, Fantasy?”

Fact is in his favourite form- that of a scholarly old man. Icy eyes stare at me from wire-framed spectacles. But I am not intimidated. Because despite his grand illusions, I am more powerful than Fact. Imagination overcomes Knowledge. It is the natural law that governs humans.

He is holding a grenade, which he throws at me. I easily sidestep it, and watch it explode against the misty walls of Slumber. Fact launches another one, but a silver streak shoots out from my hand and stops it. He cannot win this battle. Fact may have superior human technology and weaponry, but I have under my belt, all the imaginings of mankind. Anything that does not possess physical form or reality is under my command.

He is restricted to what is real. I am not.

Fact tries desperately to defeat me, but he is slowly realizing that it is not possible. Not at this point, where knowledge has not quite taken over imagination or dreams.

The river Sleep flows around our feet, suddenly very alive. I draw power from it, and from the folds of my cloak, pull out a single glass ball. Fact’s eyes widen when he sees it. We both know I cannot destroy him- knowledge will always walk the Conscious World- but I can at least harm him. And what I have in my hand, this golden glass ball, is my most powerful weapon yet. It is older than any technology or weapon Fact can throw at me.

It is Story.

Stories are just dreams and imaginings- the contents of the worlds I walk- taken form. It is one of the few powers I possess in the Conscious World, because it originates from the dreamworld. Right now it burns hot in my hand, and I throw it at Fact. He screams as the golden flames envelope him. As he fades away, I can hear the voices of all the stories ever told, all the imaginings put to paper, all the fruit of my labors born.

Fact is gone, banished back to the Conscious World for now. He walks in the laboratories, in the minds of scholars or scientists. But me? I have the dreamers, the artists, the everyday people. Because every human dreams. It is possibly the greatest gift that their spirit possesses, the ability to imagine and wonder.

Story returns to my cloak, whole once more. I rub its crystalline surface, and feel the warmth of legends.

I am a legend. I am with every person ever born on this earth, even the ones who follow Fact. I am the walker of these dreamworlds, and its guardian. Slumber, as well as Delirium, Daydream or Dying are trusted to me. I am an allegory.

The river Sleep falls back to its peaceful rhythm, and I feel the dreams all around me, of humans sleeping. They are my creators. Their minds brought me to existence, just as they did Fact and many others. Their minds can also destroy me. But they will not. I am confident of that. Because it is in their nature to dream. If they rid themselves of it, then they rid themselves of their very soul.

I follow the rivers of the allegory worlds to their mouths.

I am Dream, I am Fantasy, I am Imagination. And I will always win.