You know you’re dreaming when you’re being killed by a guy you’ve never met.
A knife was pressed up against my throat, his maniacal laughter pulsating through my skull. Then I realized, if I’m dreaming, why does this hurt?
This was real.
But there was nothing I could do, laying in this alley as a blade sunk into my throat. All I could do was think. Think about my imminent doom. Think about how I even got here. Think.
God, I wish this blade could pass right through me.
And it did.