Dream Orc Name Generator

The story

Brann had been hungry in dreams before, but this was the first dream that made him angry about the washing-up. He stood in a dining room holding a tray of plum bread. Everyone else had brought a chair. There were high chairs, stools, a chair with a saddle instead of a seat, and one with a brass plate declaring that it belonged in another room. Brann had brought a folded serving cloth, which was useful in several ways and entirely useless for sitting. The loaf smelled of scorched sugar. He had baked it, though he could not remember the oven.

He gave the slices out before choosing his own portion. This was the order he used in his waking boarding house: divide the reserve, make sure each guest has a share, then choose from what remains. He liked feeding people. He also liked plum bread. These facts had begun to feel embarrassingly incompatible. When the platter returned, only an outer crust remained. He put it beside the folded cloth and went to fetch spoons. By the time he came back, the table was longer. A person at the new end wanted a cup. Beyond the windows a gray line appeared, and the room dissolved before Brann tasted anything.

At breakfast he blamed the dream on having eaten too little supper. His lodgers were occupied with the actual breakfast and did not argue. That evening he took an extra roll upstairs. The dream did not include the roll. It included the tray, the chairs, the folded cloth, and a little card beside his crust. ONE NEW CHOICE ON EACH RETURN, the card said. Everything you have already chosen stays. Morning still comes. Brann inspected the reverse in case there was an address for complaints. There was only a grease mark.

For his first return he chose a shorter serving route. He could go between the cupboard and the wall instead of around the table. The gap seemed impossibly thin until he tried it; his broad shoulders passed through with the unpleasant feeling of being a letter pushed under a door. He distributed the loaf, selected the remaining crust, and went for spoons by the new route. It saved several steps. It did not give him anywhere to sit. He stood beside the cloth and decided that a jug needed filling. The table lengthened while he was gone. Morning arrived with the mild expression of someone who had warned him already.

The next day he found himself annoyed with a lodger who complimented his bread. He knew this was unreasonable. He said thank you too loudly. All afternoon he thought about the chairs, especially the ridiculous saddle chair, whose owner had managed to eat quite comfortably. In the second return he used his one new choice to place a chair for himself. There was a chair behind the door that had not been claimed; moving it to the table required taking the serving cloths off the only free space. He cleared that seat as part of placing it. The shorter route remained. So did the guests-first distribution and the ordinary crust.

He sat. Then he noticed empty dishes accumulating near the guest in the saddle chair. If he moved them now, he would not have to scrape them later. He rose, stacked them, and found a cup underneath. The table grew a little. He returned to his chair, raised the crust, and saw crumbs where somebody's elbow might catch them. He stood again. At each trip his own place receded a few inches. Eventually he was carrying dishes down a table so long that the people at the far end looked like a row of uncertain candles. His chair was still there when morning came. He had used it several times. He had not eaten.

Awake, Brann lay on his side and rehearsed a furious explanation to an imaginary guest. He had made the bread. He had divided it fairly. He had even found himself a chair. Could they not see that he was hungry? He disliked the sound of the explanation because nobody at the dream table had told him not to eat. Nobody had required him to clear before supper ended. He had supplied those requirements himself and then resented the guests for obeying them. In the boarding house below, someone dropped a boot. Brann pulled the pillow over his head. Understanding a grievance did not make it less irritating.

On the third return, the short passage was already open, the chair already placed and clear. He distributed the bread as before and chose the outer crust as before. No warm central slice was secretly waiting beneath the platter. A woman in a blue coat sat to his left. She might have been the person who had worn a green hat on another night, or someone quite different. Dream faces were poor evidence of actual acquaintance. She introduced herself as Siv, then held up her sleeve to keep it out of the butter.

He made his one new choice. ‘Would you help clear after we have eaten?’ he asked. ‘You can say no. Your supper is yours either way.’ Siv looked at the extraordinary length of the table. ‘My end only,’ she said. ‘And somebody else can wash the greasy pans.’ Brann wanted to add a request about the cups, but caught himself turning a small accepted task into a whole kitchen. ‘Your end only. Afterwards.’ She nodded and carried on eating. The promise concerned a particular person, a particular task, and a time that had not arrived. It did not make the room clean.

Brann sat in the chair he had already learned to use. He picked up the crust he had already chosen. There were still dishes in front of the saddle chair. His knees tightened, ready to lift him. Siv saw the movement and said, with her mouth full, ‘Afterwards.’ It was not an order. He could have risen and begun another trip. Instead he remained where he was, with the small accepted arrangement removing the excuse he usually found persuasive. The table did not shorten. At the far end, two guests were disputing whether the room had a window. One pointed to a window; the other insisted that this was exactly the sort of thing a room without windows would do.

He bit the bread. The edge was dry, with a little plum caught against the hard crust. It was not the slice he had wanted when the dream began. He took another bite before deciding whether he liked it. There was butter within reach. The gray line beyond the disputed window brightened, and he felt the familiar urge to hurry, as if swallowing faster might purchase the rest of the evening. It could not. He ate at an ordinary speed while the guests continued their foolish argument. Morning took the dining room before the clearing started. Siv's accepted future task remained future; no invisible hands finished it for her.

In his own kitchen, Brann made toast. Someone knocked while he was spreading the second piece. ‘Is the blue apron down here?’ a lodger called. It was a question that could wait a mouthful. Brann chewed, swallowed, and answered. He still had breakfast to prepare for other people. He would probably stand up too often, and he already felt annoyed about a saucepan someone had left to soak without water. He finished the toast anyway. There was no plum in it, but he was awake for all of it.