“The nameless one,” I said, “Does not remember his dreams. He thinks, though, that they are memories, or may be memories, of what he lost. That’s why he likes to sleep.”
“Sleep’s good in this case,” said the friendly looking man, “but needs must.” He directed me into a chair. “We’ll try to get you back to bed soon.”
“I do not like sleeping,” I said.
“Sometimes it’s hard to face…” but he didn’t finish his thought. “Do you recognize,” he asked, as he set snapshots down on the table before me, “any of these?”
“Candid shots? The nameless one worries. He asks the good doctor, ‘Why?'”
“We’re worried that they are like the nameless one,” came an answer from the darkness.
“We want to help them,” added the doctor, “like we’re helping you.”
“The nameless one see three he…they are familiar to him, like his dreams. Who are they?”
“Nameless as he. They also need to sleep.”
Tale Told 