Hey there, this is just an entry about a dream I had. It was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from, though ironically enough, I dreamed I was having a nightmare.


My sleep was restless. My fringe was damp with sweat, my body was hot and I opened my eyes in the darkness. My room was as quiet as it ever was, shadows cast across the walls from the light of my clock and radio. Moonlight barely filtered through the blinds, illuminating the room just enough to see. Everything was normal, I was imaging things. But then, what was… that?

Two fiery red eyes appeared at the end of my bed. They were huge, half my height each, and they glared with such ferociouty I recoiled. A cynical voice from an unseen being hissed to me, and all I became aware of, was that he was coming. Lord Voldemort, for reasons unexplained, wanted his revenge on me.

I shivered until my body was too exhausted to sleep and shut my mind off by itself. I could not rest easy though, for I knew something was happening. Once more, at the shelf by the foot of my bed, white light, almost like dust, swirled around in a sphere. A tint of red was amongst it, and slowly, from chin to forehead, a porcelain mask was formed with a red dot in the middle.

My eyes flashed open, and I sat up, staring at it. I screamed and took out of my bed, racing to my mother who, as she always has in my dreams, treated it as trivial. She sprayed it with some poisonous chemical and left it on the table until it could be dealt with properly, and sent me to bed.

The next day, I strolled about the isles, blessing myself with the sign of the cross before the crucifix. A church was the one place I was safe, and so I had brought the mask to the priest. Unfortunately, he hadn’t time to talk to me, and suddenly the world changed. I was no longer in the familiar parish, but the equivalent of a barnhouse with all the likewise people inhabiting it. Christian farmers and country folk, and as logic so often does in a dream, they wanted to hang me. Whether it was for the mask (which disappeared) or for myself, I don’t know.

Lol this is where it breaks the ambience, but when I was dreaming it, I wasn’t scared, just ready; brave. After all, what harm could an orangutan do? It pulled me up by the hands, fitting the noose around my neck, and I gripped the rope and pulled myself up enough so it was loose enough to breathe. Sliding it off my head, I swung back and forth for some time watching the crowd whos eyes were filled with silent hatred, and amongst them, I saw Dad. I think he was crying, but my memory fails me. And so, with one last, regretful breath, I slid the noose over my head once more and tightened it.
"Tell Ivy that I love her."
"I will," answered my father.

That was all I needed to let go.


Strangely enough, I woke up after that. I wonder why it’s true that you never die in your dreams. If dreams are a reflection from your conscious, subconscious, short-term and long-term memories, why would that be? I guess it’s because nobody’s died and lived to dream about it, and that’s why it would be true to say if you die in your dreams, you die in the real world. Hm…

Poor Ivy, imagine it, just saying, "Tell Ivy that I love her" and going to my death. I hate dreams like that. I had a similar one (in the sense I was going to die) in which the world was overrun by carnivores. They set up some sort of radio blocker, so I drove as far away from it as I could and called Ivy’s mobile. Reception was terrible, but I managed to tell her to run, hide, and survive for as long as she could. That I loved her, and always would. The radio blocker’s distance expanded so it cut me off, and I raced with it, leaving messages on her unanswered phone. There was nothing more I could do except drive back to the shelter and arm myself like the rest of the remaining townsfolk.

Anyway I’m rambling. Meep, I hope I never have to say a final goodbye to Ivy…


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