Some people keep dream journals, where they write down everything they can remember the following day. I’ve done this several times in my life, and I even stored them away for book ideas in the future. This one here is no different, and now, I also want to start sharing them on my site.
It started outside of my apartment, around four in the morning, near the mailboxes. There was red and blue lights shining through my window. I went outside to see what happened. All of the neighbors were gathered around my front lawn, screaming at each other, as the Paramedics worked the scene. Half asleep, still in only my boxers, I observed my surroundings, walking past the crowd, and even approached the ambulance.
What could’ve happened while I was sleeping, I thought. Time appeared to be moving slower than it should. There wasn’t a person in sight that acknowledged me—instead, they all continued yelling at each other. Maybe they couldn’t see me. I took one last look at the crowd, and then everything went black.
Last night, for the first time in years, I couldn’t wake up from a bad dream. Usually in a nightmare, when things get out of hand, I’m able to press the big-red escape button, which tells my body that shit is hitting the fan, and it’s time to wake up. Last night though, getting out of that dream wasn’t an option. In fact, I kept telling the people around me, “I need to wake up, but I can’t. My body isn’t letting me”
“You’re not sleeping,” they said. “This is real.”
It didn’t make sense. All I could remember was going to sleep, and now, here I am, in this world of mess, tied up in the back of a van, with several others who didn’t seem as confused I was. They knew why they were here. I didn’t.
“You killed them,” said the girl next to me. “Now they’re gonna make you pay for it.”
It's simple: if you write your email address here, my words will reach you again.