Dream (noun)
A series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep
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Life has different paths. Left. Right. Straight. Curve. Detour. Road Blocks. Stopovers. Temporary destinations. But Alex Esteban lands in an unusual stopover - The Dream Arena. Where is it? Heaven? Hell? No. Alex is set to take on a life-changing event in his life, and it only happens in his dreams.
Dream Arena is a mission field played in your dreams where one gets a second chance to live. A second chance that the universe gives to someone who's fighting for his life in the real world. A second-chance candidate is tagged as a dying soul. Alex, a dying soul, will be paired up with a 'lifeline' that he can only summon while the lifeline is asleep. It's a magical encounter where dreams and reality intertwine in order to finish a mission set by the 'Dream Council'.
INT. ELEVATOR TO DREAM ARENA, DAY
Alex E.
"Did I die?" Alex asked a midget usher whose hair is gelled one side. He didn't reply. Alex looked at the guy's gold rectangle name plate on his chest that only indicates this guy's obvious role - USHER. Puzzled and scared about his destination, Alex pressed the emergency stop button of the elevator.
"Is this heaven?" Alex's voice cracked. Again, the guy didn't reply. This is probably heaven. He assumed looking at his usher who's wearing all white.
Ting. 4th Floor.
Astonished, Alex's eyes dilated as he saw how beautiful the place is. Big cove-shaped place made in white steel, glass mirrors. Picture a museum. High ceiling. Foggy, but not steamy. White walls. It's like he's walking on the clouds.
A muffled male voice sounded out of nowhere. "Welcome, Case No.018 Alexander Esteban."
That voice startled Alex that it made him jump on the small guy's back. "WHAT WAS THAT??!"
The usher gave nothing but a side small. He's used to those initial reactions from a newbie dying soul. He ignored and walked Alex onto the Master's office.
Inside the Master's office is a spaceship-slash-airplane looking hub. Being a techie guy, the button panel and the wide, flat screen caught his attention. There's a hologram on the side. There are multiple TV Screens plastered on the middle wall. Almost like your backstage media center. He attempted to press the button but a round voice from behind interrupted him that he fisted back his hand.
"Alexander Esteban! Welcome to Dream Arena!"
The Master Dreamer. MD as labeled on his gold name plate. MD is the head facilitator who supervises every dream mission. A coach. A consultant. And the only one who's authorized to navigate the panel. He's 6 feet 2 inches tall. Sporting a superman hairstyle, a whiteout casual suit with a beige accent added by the belt and shoes. MD's jaw is his asset. His smile is so inviting, not to mention his sparkling white teeth. You can liken his eyes to that of Chris Pine.
"Am I dead?"
"No. Not yet." MD smiled, anticipating this common hello of every dying soul.
"Where am I?"
"I just said it! Welcome to the Dream Arena, Alexander Esteban!" He said it like how we did the first time with a strong emphasis on 'welcome'.
"Hold up hold up. I meant, where exactly am I?" Exactly as in EGZZAACCCTLYYY.
"In your dreams."
"My dreams? Wait? What?"
MD signaled Usher to prep Alex's file. MD turned on the big screen that showed a window to Alex's reality. In the bigger screen in the middle, Alex saw himself lying in a hospital bed, in critical condition. His head wrapped in bondage. His face in an oxygen mask. Alex panned his head on the multiple screens which flash various shot options of himself in the real world. He saw his puffed face on a screen with a close-up shot. He touched his face and his arms as he looked on the screen that zoomed his accident scratch marks. Beside him, in reality, is his mom Diane.
He now remembered that he got into an accident. He pressed his eyes as he recalled the sound of his car clash, screeching in the middle of an empty road.
"That's your reality. The real world. You're in a coma, Mr. Esteban."
"So it's true," Alex whispered. "People who are in a coma are usually in a dream state."
"Well. Lucky for you, Mr. Esteban. This is not just a dream. This is the Dream Arena."
Dream Arena is a special case bestowed upon high-deserving candidates who are up for a second chance to live. Everything is hard to comprehend for someone who just got into an accident. But if there's one thing that Alex understood pretty well, it's that -- he's not dead. Not yet.
MD continued to explain the Dream Arena manual. "Your death line falls on Christmas Day. That's 40 days from now. This means that you only have 40 days to finish your mission. This special task is decided by the Dream Council. But you don't have to worry, bud, you're not gonna do this alone."
"Dream Council? Dream Arena? 40 days?"
"I'm sorry but this is ridiculous. Is this a joke?"
"It's not a joke, Mr. Esteban. Would you rather believe that this is a joke or would you rather trust this idea for a second life to live?"
Trust? How can he trust the people he just met? He thought. But in the middle of uncertainty, he has no one to depend on.
Believe. Believe so he can live. Looking at the reality screens, his heart crashed while watching his mom cry. If believing MD is the only card he has to wake up, then he would be willing to do anything that MD says.
"Look. I know these sound weird and overwhelming. But the fact that you're invited here in the Dream Arena means you still have a purpose. But you have to work hard and accomplish your mission while you are here."
Purpose. MD's right. Alex remembered why he came back to Manila in the first place. Give justice to his father's death and rewrite his mother's story angled towards Diane's redemption. Not even an accident could and should stop him from doing his lifelong plan.
"You have to believe because this mission is impossible if there's unbelief," MD continued.
"What's the mission?"
MD pulled out his case file and handed it over to Alex who has A-level experience leading a case.
"It's a cold case of your late father Dave Esteban. And you have 40 days to solve it."
Photos of Dave Esteban flashed on the screens. Video clips rolled on the hologram. It cut like a knife while Alex was watching the videos. But he needed that push.
"As soon as this case is solved, you'll get your second life."
"How can I do it here? You said a while ago I'm not gonna do this alone."
"Good question. Every dying soul like you gets a lifeline to help you with this mission. Your lifeline will work on the case in the real world."
"Well how can I work with this 'lifeline' if I'm here and my lifeline is there," Alex asked, a bit confused, pointing at the reality screens.
"Again. Good question. Your lifeline is the only person from the real world that can communicate with you. And you can only summon this person through your dreams."
"So it means?"
"It means the Dream Arena is your meeting place. The two of you meet while both of you are sleeping." MD stressed.
The digital countdown was plastered on the wall. It's set to begin as soon as the lifeline accepted the project.
"What if my lifeline didn't want to do it?" Alex folded his arms.
"In your case, for sure, she would accept it." MD smirked out of excitement.
"She's a she? Who is she?"
MD navigate the panel. The big screen zoomed in, flashing a still scenario of Diane holding Alex's hand. Crying. Praying. For a second, Alex thought that his mom was his lifeline.
"My mom? It would be nice to talk to her even through our dreams," He smiled longingfully.
"Uh-uh. Not her." MD said. The screen panned to Mang Boy - his driver and overall help. He watched Mang Boy fix the hospital closet and unload all the clothes from the suitcase. Not him. It's a she.
Then who? Is it Hana? Alex secretly hoped.
Zoom in. "That girl. She's your lifeline," MD pointed at the lady behind the door. Peeking. Hiding. He zoomed in. Close-up. A name flashes on the screen:
Alex Tapang - Lifeline for Case No.18. Alex Esteban.
"WHAT??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!
INT. HOSPITAL (Reality), DAY
Alex T
Reporters were everywhere in the hospital waiting for Diane. After staying low-key for how many years, the accident put the Esteban family back in the lifeline.
I removed my press ID. I didn't want to be identified as a reporter. A familiar face passed in front of me - small, brown-skinned - his head down-low, trying to evade the press. Is that Mang Boy?
Mang Boy has been Alex's driver since we're in college. I discreetly followed him. I saw him enter Room 214. Bodyguards were stationed outside the room. It's a privilege given by the hospital, now that they're getting the media's attention.
Dianne stepped out of the room to talk to Alex's doctor.
"He's in a critical condition," said the doctor.
I felt weak. Flustered. Worried. I wanted to throw up.
My phone buzzed and it distracted Diane. She looked around, suspicious that someone's eavesdropping. I hid immediately and canceled Pinky's call.
I went back to the lobby. Pinky called for an emergency meeting. There's breaking news about the Department of Tourism. Updates on barangay election. Marawi. Pope visit. A pregnant celebrity. I usually get the bigger headline. But here I am in the hospital; voluntarily covering a car accident news whose angle would most likely fall under the entertainment section.
I was restless. I couldn't do anything. I stayed at the corner of the lobby. I packed up. My head told me to go back to Manila. But my heart supported me in Alex's room. Room 214. I uttered.
Lucky for me. There's no guard on duty. It's as if the universe was cheering on me as I took advantage of this free pass. No reporters on site. And so I grabbed the opportunity to check on Alex. I peeked through the slightly opened door. And there I saw him. And my heart broke.
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