Unwritten

The Dream

I could feel myself slipping out of reality again, my head exploding with a million questions as I slip into the unwanted daydream. Well, more like a nightmare.

"No..." I groan under my breath, knowing exactly what would come next. Damn it, Als, take control of yourself. Fight it, don't let it get to you.....

Too late. The dream is already taking hold of me, and I watch yet again as the events before me unfold.

I'm sitting at my desk, my curtains opened letting in the warm sunlight. I'm writing something – my novel I'd been working on. A novel about book characters that possessed some kids, took over their bodies to be able to walk in talk in the real world. Freaky stuff, right? Exactly.

Suddenly, the room is dark. It's as if life is moving in fast forward, the sun sinking faster than scientifically possible and soon enough the full moon is visible. Everything slows again as the world settles into nighttime. For some unknown reason, I begin weeping and the heavy weight of depression falls on my shoulder – a deep, terrible pain I'd never experienced before, definitely worse than in the last dream. Even more real.

Then, I'm slowly getting up, tears falling to the floor nearly as soon as they form in my eyes. It shouldn't be humanly possible to cry this much – human tear ducts only hold so much fluid. Before I even realize what I'm doing, my hands are raking at the walls, trying to peel something from it.

Words. Words are peeling off from the walls as I pull at it. I try to take control of my dream self, try to read a full sentence, but I'm only permitted a few glances here and there. They're adjectives – words describing the wall I'm tearing apart, shifting as I rip more and more up. My arms and hands ache, craving a break, but I don't stop. I can't stop.

Woah, wait a minute. Something changed. My arms, they feel... different than in any other dream. Like I'm being torn apart, slowly, cautiously. Looking down, I see my arm is ... I don't even know. They're peeling off like the wall was. Like sheets of paper. Strip by strip, run on sentences beneath each one. The small, partly conscious part of my brain is screaming in pain, scared out of its ...well, scared out of its mind, really. Yet a much larger part of my brain is relieved. I slowly fall to the ground on my knees. I'm smiling, I can feel it. I'm dying, fading from existence, and I'm happy to be going away. For whatever reason, I know I just committed suicide, just by scratching the walls.

"What does this even mean?" I think to myself, despite my dream body laughing joyously and crying tears of happiness.

"Peace..." I hear myself say before the dream fades away. All I know is, I just died.