He was in a field of poppies, and a Cottonwood tree hung overhead, the sounds of a river splashed nearby. It was so peaceful, so drowsy, it made him want to sleep. But his eyes did not close and he only stared out at the sky through the Cottonwood above him. His foot itched, and a bee sat on his knees. He was not wearing any clothes. He felt like he should sit up and maybe glance around and see if there was anything there, but the sky was much more enrapturing. A voice spoke. It's notes were slow, and it sounded more like a whisper, like a secret exchanged at a sleepover.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up. Sleep is over." Sleep was over. The voice made him want to sleep, made him want to put his head down in the poppies and never remember a thing.

"We have a lot to talk about." The voice said. Other voices around it agreed.

“Yes, yes, lots to talk about.”

“Tons even I quite agree.” A group of people sat just out of his vision. They muttered like they were half-asleep, slow and underneath their breath. It sounded like a collective sigh when they spoke.

He so badly wanted to get up and look at them, to stare at their faces. His mind told him it would be a great idea. What was left of it at least. The remnants of memory. But his body felt so tired.

Just rest a minute in the poppies. Smell the poppy air, tinged with Cottonwood, hear the sounds of running water in the background.

“Are you going to talk?” The voice said. It was long and sleepy, and made him feel heavy inside, made his eyes want to close, made his thoughts want to drift.

“What? Oh yeah. Talk. I’ll do that.” More muttering.

“Get up.” At once his body got up. He was in a deep valley, cut through two mountain tops, like a knife cut through brie cheese, a jagged rock outcropping hung just a little bit away from his vision. The mountains moved and whirled like a hula dancer, they were so sheer, so great, that they jarred and broke with the sky above.

He was in a field of poppies that stretched on for miles, that climbed their way up the mountains, whole mountains of orange-red flowers. Right through the center of the valley a milky white lake meandered and corralled itself. Cottonwood trees sunk their leaves into the water like men going to a drinking fountain, albeit they seemed a little embarrassed to be drinking trees.

Under one of these trees a little bit away from him sat a group of men and women napping around a statue. Each one in that serene period of deep sleep, each one will wake up perfectly rested. All of them looked different but the pout of their lips in that period of sleep was all the same.

The statue in the center of their group was made out of green rock. It curved into the shape of a willowy asleep man, his arms were like branches and his toes like leaves and he sat and stared at him. His eyes were closed but his face wasn’t asleep. His left ear had been replaced by a doves wing and he had smattering of curls that covered his head like the poppies covered the mountains.

The statue spoke.

“Come, come, come, join us.” It’s lips moved, quivered, the word drifted out and tinged the wind with it’s sound. His body moved, each joint reacting to the voice, facing the statue, his mind tried to tell them to stop. To let his body decide on it’s own, but they didn’t let him.

He sat in front of the statue, his joints cooled down, and he stared up at the statue’s long angular jutted face that sort of broke with the world. His proportions were only proportions one could find sleeping, his lips were too chubby for his neck and his legs.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

There were characteristics about him that were decided before he himself was born.

“Hello.” The statue said.

“Hi.” He responded

“You have nice features.” He nodded. He did have nice features.

“They are very new features, just minted. You are like a crisp bill of money or a freshly opened pack of tennis balls, I guess you wouldn’t really know the reference.” The statue said, it’s lips curved into a shallow grin, it’s eyes still remained closed.

“Anyways, there are some introductions in order. What is your name?” He looked, his eyes glossed over and he thought for a moment, and then another moment, and before long too many moments had passed.

“Oh I didn’t think you would know either. I’m thinking of Morpheus, what do you think? We can all call you Morp, or Heus but I think Heus works a lot worse. Maybe not. You didn’t dream of any names so I don’t really have anything to call you. Mimir did send you but we can’t just call you Mimi it wouldn’t be right, otherwise you aren’t really a Mimi. Any ideas guys?” The people around the statue muttered. Fragments and words came out, but nothing concrete.

“What about Jasmine?” He asked. The statue made a face, it’s eyes shook.

“That’s not very fitting. We can’t just go around calling you jasmine, it’s a totally different effect you know. We care a lot about the effects here. Although the flowers, I think the flower theme totally fits. What is your favorite flower?”

He looked out on the field of poppies that he stood on. His arm ran through ten of them, they sprouted through his legs.

“I think I only know the ones here.” He said. The statue smiled, although the smile wasn’t full, and it wasn’t believable.

“Ah yes, poppies, great flowers, one of my favorites. Good in soups, stew, and great for the mind.”

The statue looked pensive.

“Poppy is a great name. It has a great feel to it. I think it fits you.” Poppy nodded, he thought it fit him as well. It was a name that anyone could say.

“Well on the subject of names, I guess you’ll want mine. It’s nothing special, no nothing special at all. My mother gave it to me. Though I guess mother’s give their names to everyone. You don’t really have a mother anymore, or anyone. Wow. Isn’t that incredible to be truly empty in the world? It's a blank canvas for you.”

“You said you were going to give me your name.” Poppy looked at the statue, who’s eyes looked back even if they didn’t look.

“Oh I was going to tell you but I’m just so tired. So sleepy. We have so much time together why waste it with being brief with each other. If I don’t extend the length of each visit there won’t be any mystery, there will be nothing to talk about. Anyways we have so much to discuss. The memories have shifted. Ah! I see them now. You are being created as we speak, molded and built, like a Golem in Prague.” Poppy sat down. The statue voice kept going, the poppies all strained to hear it’s voice.

“I just wanted to give you some advice. From one man to another, from one dreamer to another, don’t become a boring character. Give yourself some unique character. I’m impartial to bad boys but I really do think a good narcoleptic would fit you perfectly. I can just imagine it now, in the middle of a fight for your life, boom, crack, knocked out, asleep. Fun right?” The statue pouted it’s lips.

“Well it doesn’t matter anyways. You got to get going. I think this place just isn’t good for your poor temperament, well come along now. Yes Henry get him some.” One of the whisperers walked over to the river's edge and with one singular fluid motion brought out a small measuring cup that would be used for baking, scooped up some of the water and ran over to Poppy. He brought it to his mouth.

Poppy didn’t move. The liquid was a deep dark purple and flecks of dust swirled in it. His lips were so dry and a sip sounded so good. It smelled like jasmine distilled down to jasmine. The whisperer who brought it was a woman, her face was so pretty. Her eyebrows dotted her face like two strong brushstrokes against a blank canvas, she had an honest face, it hurt to look at.

She motioned. And he drank and he forgot.