Dreaming

The realm of dreams is erratic and nonsensical. Sometimes these dreams are vivid and one cannot draw the line between what is dream, and what is reality.

You blink. It’s too misty to see anything.

Misty, or steamy? you ask yourself. You can feel cold tiles underfoot.

Suddenly you realise you’re naked. You can feel the warm droplets of water still clinging to your body.

The steam begins to clear a little, and you notice a person standing in front of you. You jump a little from the shock, before realising it must be a mirror. As you walk closer, you begin to realise that the person in the mirror isn’t you.

‘That’s not my face,’ you say, before gasping. ‘That’s not my voice either.’

You run your hands, no, you run these foreign hands over this foreign face, examining its features. Still confused, you begin to shiver. You search, but you cannot find any clothes nearby, so you wear the closest thing to clothing available; a towel.

You exit the bathroom. The last of the steam follows you into the hallway. It’s dark, but you can hear the sound of a television playing. You walk towards the sound, down the hallway

Left turn. Right turn. Finally, you are in the living room. The front door is to your left, but you are more focused on the room you’re standing in. It looks like it belongs to a multimillionaire. A television with measurements larger than you could even guess is mounted on the wall, black leather couches positioned in front of it. An ivory coffee table sits on top of a large and thick sheepskin rug.

Ding.

The doorbell rings. You wait for a dong sound to follow, but it never comes. You decide to answer the door. You swing the thick oak door back and pause.

The person standing in front of you is Alex.

‘Uh, hi Alex,’ you say. It still isn’t your voice, but you are beginning to become accustomed to this strange situation.

‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’

Alex steps forwards and then shoves you to the ground. Your makeshift clothing malfunctions and you are left defenceless on the floor.

‘I’m hungry, let’s eat.’

Tendrils burst from Alex’s body and fly towards you. You stand quickly and run, but you are too late. Alex’s tendrils ensnare you and drag you along the floor.

‘You do look delicious.’

You look up, only to be greeted by the sight of Alex’s gaping black maw. You struggle, but can’t budge an inch. Screaming is the only option as you are devoured by blackness.

You jolt awake in bed.

‘Just a dream,’ you say. Your voice has returned to normal. You look down and see your own body.

A sigh of relief escapes you. A quick glance over at the clock tells you it is four in the morning. You sigh again, but this time, it’s one of annoyance.

‘Four am is too early to be awake,’ you say, rolling over.

You see a strange man lying beside you. He is balding, and his black moustache is reminiscent of that you recall seeing on an Italian plumber.

You scream. There shouldn’t be a balding, moustached plumber man in your bed. You throw the blankets off you and dash out of the bedroom. You sprint straight for the front door and run onto the road.

A car horn sounds and brakes screech, but you cannot dodge it.

Thwack!

The ruler cracks on your desk. You sit upright and rub your eyes groggily.

‘Whaa…?’ You stare around the room. You are in a classroom; your high school classroom. Your old maths teacher stares you down, tapping the ruler on the edge of your desk.

I’m in high school still? you ask yourself. I thought I had graduated…?

‘What year is it?’ you ask.

Your maths teacher laughs sarcastically. ‘If you have to ask that then I should just fail you now!’

You wait patiently for a straight answer, but it doesn’t come.

‘Now I know corporal punishment is no longer allowed in schools,’ your teacher says, ‘but your continued display of arrogance and disinterest in my classes gives me no other choice.’

You feel the ruler strike you across the cheek. Your vision flashes red, then white, and then everything fades to blackness.

You wake up. You immediately look to your side; there’s no plumber invading your bed. You sigh thankfully.

‘What strange dreams,’ you say.

You get out of bed; nature’s calling you. You wipe your eyes and open your bedroom door. A masked man greets you.

‘Surprise.’

He points a gun at you and fires. The bullet tears through your chest, but it misses anything vital. Searing pain shoots through your body and you choke up as you watch your own blood splash onto the floor.

‘I missed, darn,’ the man says, standing above you. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t miss this time.’

He aims the gun directly at your head and fires.

Consciousness returns. Your eyes hurt from having them scrunched tight, but you don’t dare open them.

‘No more nightmares,’ you plead aloud.

You start to feel warm, very warm. Your left arm feels like it’s on fire. You quickly open your eyes and find that your left arm is actually on fire.

You scream and flail about. After employing the Stop, Drop, Roll tactic, you finally manage to put it out. Remarkably, your arm shows no sign of burning or scarring.

Intrigued, you examine your surroundings. Dirt and rock surround you for as far as the eye can see. It is in front of you, behind you, beside you, below you and, most distressingly, above you. The only variation to the rocky crags monopolising your vision are the spot fires, burning without fuel.

‘Where am I?’ you ask aloud.

You turn and see a man staring at you. He is wearing a black robe and a large gold medallion. He smiles at you; his face is sinister and intimidating.

‘I must be dreaming still,’ you say. You slap your face to try and bring yourself around.

‘Fraid not,’ the man says, chuckling. He spreads his arms wide, welcoming you. His right hand is purely bone.

‘Welcome to hell.’