For the past year or so, I’ve been taking anxiety meds. These meds have been working great for me, but they give me super vivid and very memorable dreams. I’ve found that I can lucid dream more often then not, and it’s mostly great.

Last night I had the most paralyzing dream. I couldn’t wake up, because every time I tried I would just wake up in another dream. I would wake up and panic! It was a rough night, and I didn’t get much sleep, but it gave me an idea for a story. Yes, I know, this is a bit simular to Inception, but I promise that it’s worth the read!

8. Dream-catcher: Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.

You wake up.

There is the light switch in the corner. You go over to it and hit the switch. The floor lights up. You know something is off but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You press the switch again, and the wall lights up. You look up at the ceiling, and you see a large chandelier on the ceiling, and you suddenly realize what was wrong: the lights didn’t light up. What could this be? You suddenly realize that it is just a dream.

You wake up.

You’re groggy, and feel as if you haven’t gotten a solid night’s sleep. You’ve been having these strange dreams, very disorienting and remarkably memorable. You rub the sleep from your eyes, ruffle your hair, and walk to hit the lights on the wall. The bathroom light turns on. No, wait. This isn’t quite right. Not that light… You suddenly realize that it is just a dream.

You wake up.

You feel so refreshed, so ready for the day. You hop to, brush your teeth, ruffle your hair, and look in the mirror to check your shirt for any stains. A bee looks back at you. You are startled, but then you realize that this is just a dream.

You wake up.

The room is dark. You can’t see. You go to find the light witch, and you turn on the lights. You get ready for the day, and take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror. You walk out of your house, close the white picket fence, walk to the car, and drive off to your job. There is no steering wheel. There is no pedal. It is not a car, it is a boat. There is no water, only fire. You ride the boat to the island, but the island is on fire. You can feel the heat, it is searing your flesh. You being to melt, slowly bubbling away, and you begin to scream when you realize it doesn’t hurt. This is just a dream.

You wake up.

You turn off your alarm clock, and open up the window. You hear the far off drone. You ruffle your hair, turn on the lights, get ready for he day. The drone is louder. You walk to the window. The drone is louder. You reach out of the window. You see the bees. They are coming to take you to work. You step out, onto the backs of the bees. The bees take you to the island. You step onto the island, but it’s not an island, it’s the back of the turtle. “This is a dream,” the turtle tells you.

You wake up.

You turn off the alarm, and you open the door. You leave your house. The road is empty. You begin your walk to work. You work at a coffee stand. You get to the shop. You open the door. You put on your apron and begin to serve the first costumer. It is your mom. Your mom is always your first customer. You make her the usual, grande Cinnamon Dulce Latte, and then you serve your second customer. It is your mom. You make her the usual. You serve the third customer. It is your mom. You make her the usual. You look at the line, it is going out the door. Your mom is the only one in the line. Thousands of her, repeated over and over. Iterations upon iterations. She orders. She says this is just a dream.

You wake up.

You get dressed and ready for school. The bus pulls up, and your five-year-old stomach is full of butterflies. The kids on the bus are much larger than you are. They seem angry with you. One of them approaches. He brings his fist back, and right before it hits, you realize this is just a dream.

You wake up.

You see someone witting next to you. Their face is obscured, but they make your heart race. At first, you believe you are afraid, but you quickly realize that you like this person. Perhaps you more-than-like them. You reach up to push back the veil obscuring their face, but all you see if nothing. The nothingness that was once a face begins to grow. Suddenly, it obscures everything around you, everything you’ve ever known. You know nothing now, and you reach your hand out, but there is nothing to touch. There is nothing to touch, there is nothing to see, there is nothing to taste or feel or hear. There are no thoughts or emotions here, but you can feel their pulsating just outside of yourself. It is as if they have been removed, placed in a cage next to you. You cannot see them, but it is as if they were dampened by woolen cloth or hidden away from view. You being to see the stars. You try to count them, but you cannot. There are too many. Or perhaps you do not remember how to count. Suddenly, you are not sure what count means. You are not sure what stars are. You do not know where you are, but you do not know that you do not know this. Rather, you do not know why you would need to know this. You do not know why you would need to know anything. You reach out, and you want to touch a bed. You do not know what a bed is, but you vaguely remember. Is this a bedroom? What is a bedroom? What is happening? What doe it mean? You do not know. You begin to panic, and thrash about. You have no substance to thrash about. You trash more, and then you being to realize something. You are dreaming. Yes, that is all this was. A dream. Soon, you will awaken. You always awaken.

You do not wake up.

You still do not wake up.

Panic begins to set in. You palms, which are nonexistent and existent at the same time, sweat. Your heart, being and not being, pounds harder in your chest that is and is not. That has been and never will be. I always wake up. I know I will wake up. You try to twist a body that is and was and won’t and will to see the numbers on the clock. You can see lights, but you don’t comprehend their meaning. You realize these are just stars. You realize there is no time here. You realize how lonely and cold you feel. How desolate it is here. You want to cry. You want to be held. There is no one to hold you. There is no one to be held. I am not here. You are here. You shiver. It is cold. You try to open your eyes, but there is only the cold. You realize this is only a dream.

You do not wake up.

You can never wake up.

You never wake up.

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