17:13:33

He watched with interest as the young woman flew over the bar, just barely touching it. But that one touch was enough: the bar started quivering and lost its balance. She gave no sound as she fell on her back, her legs coming down a second afterwards. She was completely motionless and the referee was already giving him the sign. He climbed onto the mat and examined the young woman. Finding no pulse, he checked his watch.

Time of death: 17:13:33.

Cause: Shattered dreams piercing the heart.

He had already known it though. He had seen it from the determination in her eyes, the now-or-never attitude she displayed when preparing for the jump. He didn't know anything about the sport but the way she moved had had a certain grace to it and he had truly thought that the last jump was beautiful.  He caught the eyes of one of his men and nodded at him. The team started moving in an instant and he stepped back, making sure they were picking her up correctly.

The competition wasn't a big one, so the audience was very small. He was sure that they knew as well as he did what had happened and he could already see someone parting from the audience. He prepared himself for the conversation that would follow.

"Is she all right?" The young man asked him the moment he had reached the place.

"Are you someone with close relation to the competitor?" He answered with a question of his own.

"Yes." He could hear the concern in the young man's voice.

"Please follow me." He lead the young man out of the hall, into one of the backrooms where he knew his team would be waiting for him.

"I am afraid that she has passed away." He said sadly. The young man's eyes widened in shock.

"Passed...away?"The young man choked out. He nodded in confirmation.

"Yes. As my duty as an official, I am obliged to ask you a few questions about the victim." He said, moving on to business. It may have seemed harsh, but by now, he was used to seeing people die on a daily basis and he had hardened his heart, to get over with the business first and mourn later. He didn't give the younger male time to think about it, he just started with the protocol.

"Was she aware of the risks?" He started with the most obvious question first.

"Of course she was. But she loved it and her parents supported her decision to keep practicing even after it became her dream." This surprised him a little. He rarely found people whose decision to follow their dream was supported by their closest ones.

 But then again, how could it be otherwise? In this world, where simply having a dream could turn out to be more lethal than going to war, people thought of dreams as a means of suicide, something dangerous and something scary. The reward was high, very high, but the risk was even greater. Just a single doubt could end your life in an instance. One was considered a fool or lunatic for even thinking that they might make it.

"Did she have a certain goal in mind when accepting her dream?" He continued asking.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so though, because she never seemed to be satisfied with her results. I think her aim was to get better and better." The young man's face was unsure but he could nothing else than take his word for it.

"How peculiar. Do you know what might have triggered the Shattering?" The young man's look became sad.

"She was having difficulty with the new height. She had been trying to overcome it for a while now." He understood now. He thanked the young man and gave him the card of a counselor, strongly suggesting to visit him.

When he arrived in the room, his team was already preparing the body. The room had been temporarily turned into a lab and the body was already being scanned by various different machines.

He was lead to the next room, where he found some scrubs. After sanitizing himself he moved back to the previous room, joined by his team, also in the same scrubs he was wearing. He was handed a scalpel and he began the usual routine of cutting out the Dream within the heart.

Several hours later he was sitting in his apartment, twirling the little shape around in his fingers. It was a glass
figurine, twisted and turned in such an artistic way that it could not have been man made. A part of it was broken off, breaking the pattern of colours that were winding and mingling with each other throughout the whole thing. He placed it on a shelf next to the others he had collected so far. The shapes didn't resemble one another, neither did the colours.

They were all unique.

Just like the dreams of their bearers had been.