Killian
01-24-2014, 12:10 PM
What I’ve Become
Since I was a kid, I’ve always had this strange obsession with dreaming, I never quite understood why, but something about the ability to escape reality just fascinated me. I assume it had something to do with my reading. I’d sit for hours on end, reading book, after book, after book, so I had an imagination that was well above average on the active scale. I had tried to write my own stories before, but I often gave up mid-way through. I never was one to stick things out to the end, I was quite lazy, and didn’t do an awful lot with myself. I had quite a boring life, so I guess that’s why I took to books, to add a splash of excitement to my life. I saw myself as quite an intelligent lad, but I never had any motivation. I never listened in school. I sat in class, day dreaming my days away, coming up with my own scenarios, and watching them play out in my head. It always somehow ended me up in trouble, but I didn’t really care, school meant nothing to me. My teachers didn’t really seem to care either, they were the kind of teachers that stood, reaming off words from out of a book, asking themselves why, out of everything, they settled on teaching. I often wondered the same, they seemed to hate children, the kind of hatred that ends you up in a prison cell, and not standing in front of a classroom full of them. I suppose I had a certain amount of respect for them though, I mean, with the things they dealt with every day, I’d struggle to get out of bed in the morning.
But now I’m just rambling, back to the dreams. I kept a dream journal at the side of my bed, so every morning, when I woke up, I would write down everything I could remember from my dreams. After a few years of doing this, I’d gathered quite the collection of tales. That book had everything, from war stories, fantasy tales, space missions, and even the occasional nightmare, but I tend not to dwell on those, I only write about the ones that really interested me. I didn’t have nightmares all that regularly, I stayed away from horror films altogether, they just didn’t interest me, and when it came to books I stuck to fantasy novels, or science fiction, things that really stretched my imagination. I could imagine all the scenery, create my own characters, and sit back as the story unfolded in my mind. I had a very select group of friends, ones that have been with me since I was a toddler. They always found my obsession with books strange, but they never judged me for it, as long as I was happy, and didn’t annoy them they didn’t seem to care. They were more into video games, and movies, and yes, I suppose I did enjoy the occasional game, or movie, but it just wasn’t the same for me, movies especially. I’d play games with my friends when they wanted me to, although I didn’t own any consoles, and I’d watch the occasional movie with them, but it wasn’t the same to me. There was no fun in it, I didn’t have to use my imagination at all, everything was just given to me. The characters are dressed, and given personalities and accents. I’m not trying to say that the actors weren’t talented, because a lot of them are, gifted even, but it just wasn’t the same. One thing I refused to do, was watch a movie of a book I’d read. I hated it. The idea of ruining the world I had created, the characters I had shaped using my imagination. It would ruin it for me. I tried it for a few, and didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. Again, my friends thought this was weird, but I really didn’t care, they didn’t understand what it was like. All they cared about was watching people have their guts torn out, or shooting someone in the head with a carbine rifle. None of that really appealed to, I was a simple boy to say the least. Some people call me boring, but I just enjoy using what we were given, our minds. It might’ve been weird for a boy my age, but it helped me through a lot of long summer days, and instead of killing off my brain cells staring at a screen all day, I felt my vocabulary and knowledge grow after each book, so it was a win win situation really.
I spent quite a lot of my time inside, as you’ve probably gathered already. I wasn’t the sporty type, I just wasn’t built for it. I was tall, had pale skin, very skinny legs that could barely hold my own weight, and arms that looked like straws, so even when my parents did convince me to go join a team, I was more of a hindrance than anything. I suppose that’s why I took to books, more importantly writing books. What I lacked in physical ability, I more than made up for in intelligence. I was no straight A student, but I knew how to write a story, a good one at that. Writing the stories gave me a chance to reinvent myself, I could be anything I wanted to be, nothing could hold me back, this sense of freedom is what got me hooked. No one could laugh at me, call me names, I was the writer, I made the rules. If I wanted to be fifty feet tall and rampaging the city of Tokyo, I could do that, (and believe me, I have). I never really had any desire to leave my house, nothing outside could benefit me more than anything I could get inside. I wasn’t a total hermit, on occasion id go out with my friends, very rare occasions, but it bored me. I didn’t drink, I found the whole act of getting drunk and rowdy too animalistic, so I kept to myself wherever I could. I didn’t have a problem with that, I was happy in my own company. All I needed was a pen to write with, and a bed to sleep in.
As I grew older, my obsession with the whole dreaming thing grew stronger. Instead of dying off as it would for most kids. I think my writing fuelled my desire to dream more than ever. By this time I had books and books filled with my own fictions, on virtually every topic you could think of, it was quite the collection alright. It was coming up to my seventeenth birthday, it was about a month or so away. I felt like I was being forced to grow up too quickly, and dreams were my way out of that. I started to read a lot of online forums in my free time. They opened me up to a whole new world of people, ones just like me. Writers, illustrators, poets, even some publishers, but we all shared one common interest, dreams. Some used their dreams as inspiration for the novels they wrote, some were like me, using it as a brief escape from reality. There was one topic I never really paid much attention to, but my curiosity grew stronger and stronger. Lucid dreaming was something I tried to stay away from, it always worried me. In theory it sounded amazing, the ability to gain control of your own dreams, do whatever you want, go wherever you want, be whatever you want, but there was a dark side to it. There was a chance, be it a very small chance, that this could go wrong, that it would come to a point where I wouldn’t be able to distinguish between my dreams and reality, and that frightened me. I read stories about this online, it’s destroyed people mentally, some couldn’t take it anymore, some stayed without sleep for weeks on end to avoid it all, and that was something I just didn’t want to risk. As my curiosity grew stronger, my research took up more and more of my time, I would spend hours on end sitting at my computer, reading stories, watching documentaries, everything I could. I discovered another dark side of these lucid dreams. Astral projection. It was almost like an outer body experience, from what I’d read, your spirit leaves your body, and goes to what’s known as a ‘plane’, or another universe. It was a terrifying thought, not only that, but the fact that if you went too far into this, so called ‘plane’ you wouldn’t get back to our own. I was very sceptical about this, it all seemed a little far fetched, after all, it was just coming from some guy on a message board. I didn’t pay much attention to it, although whenever I would think about trying to lucid dream, it was always there in the back of my mind. Although the idea of it scared me beyond compare, I had to try it. I mean, if it went well, from what I heard it could be one of the most amazing sensations it’s possible to experience.
I kept a dream journal at the side of my bed, so each morning I woke up, the first thing I would do would be grab it, and write down everything I could remember about my dream, I hoped this would help me determine when I was in a dream. This became routine, every morning for the next few weeks, I had to do this, in hope that it’d help me know when I was in a dream. If I noticed any patterns, things that kept appearing, I could begin to tell when I was dreaming, that’s when it gets interesting. When I’m semi aware that I'm in a dream, I have to perform reality checks, to see whether or not it’s a dream or reality. A simple pinch on the arm usually does the trick. If I feel no pain, that’s when I become fully aware I’m dreaming. For the first couple of nights, I’d panic, and the panic would cause me to wake up. But after a week or so, it became the norm, none of it worried me anymore, I could stay fully lucid for up to an hour on some nights. I wasn’t worried about any of the health risks, I was only doing it on occasion, so nothing could possibly go wrong, right? No, I was wrong, I was very wrong. The sensation you get in a lucid dream is almost like that of a drug, I couldn’t stop, even when I wanted to, most nights, I’d accidentally fall lucid, and that worried me. I’d wake up straight away, but I’d be in such a state of panic that it would be near impossible to fall back to sleep. I decided it was best to take a break from it all.
I burned my dream journal, and for weeks, things seemed to be back to normal. I slowed down my writing, I felt my writing kept my mind too active, and that was causing my imagination to run wild as I fell asleep. I tried my best to get to sleep before ten o’clock, the mind is most active after that time. For once I felt like things were going well, I was no longer going lucid, my dreams seemed more tame, be it less imaginative, but that was a small price to pay. But it wouldn’t last long. I guess I’m just naturally curious, but when I see something I’m interested in I have this irresistible urge to read it from start to finish, I hated not knowing everything there was to know.
It was a calm night, I was home alone, my family had all gone out to dinner, I felt a little off so I decided to stay back. I had a lot of free time to kill, so I went on my computer. Checked my messages, e-mail, the usual. But I noticed an email in my box, it was from a member of that message board I loved. It was titled ‘progress’. I tried my hardest not to click it, but being the idiot I am, I thought it’d be harmless. I just wouldn’t pay attention to it. It was a person I received regular e-mails from in the past. It was a friend I had made on the message boards that would regularly check up on how my lucid dreaming was going. He hadn’t heard from me in a while, so he was just checking in. The e-mail in itself was pretty harmless, just the usual ‘hi, how’s it going?’ nothing out of the ordinary. But I think reading it tripped something in my mind. My parents arrived home and I went straight to bed, I was incredibly tired, I had just sat on my computer for the best part of four hours after all. But something was different. My dream was strange, I was there, in class, everything seemed so real. I went about my daily routine for school. Went to my locker, stopped to talk to my friends, for a while I genuinely forgot I was dreaming. I realised what was going on, so I pinched my forearm gently, nothing. I pinched it harder, still nothing. It happened again, the lucid dreaming started. The e-mail must have tripped something in my subconscious, it was out of my control. I thought one more wouldn’t hurt. I did nothing out of the ordinary, in my dreams I just took advantage of things I wouldn’t have access to in real life. I tried to keep it as close to reality as possible, which in theory was a very bad idea, but I didn’t see any harm in it. I’d talk to girls I wouldn’t have the confidence to approach in real life, id pass tests with flying colours, more than anything it was an ego boost. Because I liked to keep things simple, I wore the same clothes I owned while in my dreams, it made everything more real for me. I walked home from school by the same route I usually took, but in climbing under a fence, I snagged my jacket, a slight tear, I laughed it off. In the corner of my eye I noticed a tall black silhouette, almost taking the appearance of a man. I dismissed it, probably my mind reacting to a story I read earlier that night. I awoke from my sleep. It was a cold Saturday morning, but it was nice outside. It was nearing the end of autumn so I thought I’d go for a short walk through the forest to clear my head, while the trees still had that crisp, orange colour. I grabbed my jacket and went out the door, without saying anything to anyone, I had to, too much on my mind. I reached my hand into my pocket, and I noticed a slight tear, I thought for a second. Was that reality? Am I dreaming now? I pinched my arm, it hurt. I knew I wasn’t dreaming, so I dismissed the snag in my jacket, it must’ve just been a coincidence. I went about my day as normal, came home, sat on my computer, went to bed, the usual. I stayed up a little later than usual though, I had an essay to finish, so I didn’t get to sleep until the early hours of Sunday morning. When I fell asleep, things seemed normal, but I fell lucid again. Only this time I was in my room, asleep. I awoke, stepped out of bed, and looked outside, it was still dark. I grabbed a t-shirt and sat, looking out my window deep in thought. I noticed that silhouette in the corner of my eye, it sat there, at the bottom of my road. Not moving, I didn’t know whether to shout for help or to merely observe. I realised what was happening, I had a false awakening. I’d never experienced this before. I panicked. I closed my eyes, I awoke again, only this time, it was morning. The birds were singing, my neighbour was mowing his lawn, things seemed normal, I assumed I wasn’t dreaming. Most Sundays I tend to go for a jog, and that’s exactly what I did. I was in a horrible state mentally, I didn’t know what to think of all of this. I found it nearly impossible to distinguish between my dreams and reality. As soon as I got home, I rushed to my bedroom and locked my door. I went online to research what was happening to me. The lucid dreaming had confused my mind. It had no way of telling me whether or not I was dreaming. I was in a state of shock. I found myself pinching my arm every few seconds, but that wasn’t enough to tell whether I was awake or not. It seemed as though my mind was simulating pain while I was dreaming, I needed something more definitive. I took a pin out of my drawer, and pricked my thumb to see if I bled. Nothing came out. I started to think, I hadn’t fallen asleep yet, how could I be dreaming? Did I never wake up? I called for my parents, I got no reply. I ran downstairs as fast as my legs could physically carry me. I grabbed a knife from my kitchen drawer, a very large knife. I drew the blade straight across my leg. Again, nothing, the pain was unbearable, but nothing came out, it felt as though I wasn’t even in my body anymore. I rushed into the bathroom, splashed water onto my face and stared into the mirror. My eyes had gone from an ocean blue to a jet black. I placed my hand on my chest, I felt no heartbeat. I staggered back towards the wall and it hit me. My worst fears had become reality. I was in the astral plane, that’s why my family weren’t here. I ran outside and screamed I got no reply, everyone was gone. Everything was left as it was when I fell asleep, but no one was here. I knew I had to get back to my body before something else did, I ran straight back inside, and up to my room. I dived onto my lifeless body. Everything went black. When I awoke, I appeared to be floating above my body. I tried to re-enter it, but something was stopping me. I heard deep, heavy breaths come from the corner of my bedroom, followed by a low, demonic laugh. I looked over my shoulder. It was there, standing in the corner of my room, not moving, watching me as I wept. I glanced back over to my body, it shifted into an upright position, and stared at me, with those lifeless eyes, it gave me a smile, not a smile of happiness, the type of smile that sent a chill down your spine. It seemed as though it, and the silhouette in the corner of my room shared a connection. It extended its hand, the entity in the corner of my room reached out and grabbed it.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here now, I have no concept of time, i can’t even remember my own name. I’ll never find out what that thing did to my family, or any of the people i loved. All I can do now, is wait for someone as foolish as me to make the same mistakes i did. I’ve been watching someone for a while now, from his dreams, he hasn’t noticed me, but I’ve noticed him. He’s just as I was, foolish, weak, the perfect victim.
Thank you for reading, keep in mind that this may not be the greatest, i'm 15, but i enjoy writing literature, and would love to hear your opinions. The ending was a little rushed as i was pressed for time, but i hope you enjoyed none the less!
Since I was a kid, I’ve always had this strange obsession with dreaming, I never quite understood why, but something about the ability to escape reality just fascinated me. I assume it had something to do with my reading. I’d sit for hours on end, reading book, after book, after book, so I had an imagination that was well above average on the active scale. I had tried to write my own stories before, but I often gave up mid-way through. I never was one to stick things out to the end, I was quite lazy, and didn’t do an awful lot with myself. I had quite a boring life, so I guess that’s why I took to books, to add a splash of excitement to my life. I saw myself as quite an intelligent lad, but I never had any motivation. I never listened in school. I sat in class, day dreaming my days away, coming up with my own scenarios, and watching them play out in my head. It always somehow ended me up in trouble, but I didn’t really care, school meant nothing to me. My teachers didn’t really seem to care either, they were the kind of teachers that stood, reaming off words from out of a book, asking themselves why, out of everything, they settled on teaching. I often wondered the same, they seemed to hate children, the kind of hatred that ends you up in a prison cell, and not standing in front of a classroom full of them. I suppose I had a certain amount of respect for them though, I mean, with the things they dealt with every day, I’d struggle to get out of bed in the morning.
But now I’m just rambling, back to the dreams. I kept a dream journal at the side of my bed, so every morning, when I woke up, I would write down everything I could remember from my dreams. After a few years of doing this, I’d gathered quite the collection of tales. That book had everything, from war stories, fantasy tales, space missions, and even the occasional nightmare, but I tend not to dwell on those, I only write about the ones that really interested me. I didn’t have nightmares all that regularly, I stayed away from horror films altogether, they just didn’t interest me, and when it came to books I stuck to fantasy novels, or science fiction, things that really stretched my imagination. I could imagine all the scenery, create my own characters, and sit back as the story unfolded in my mind. I had a very select group of friends, ones that have been with me since I was a toddler. They always found my obsession with books strange, but they never judged me for it, as long as I was happy, and didn’t annoy them they didn’t seem to care. They were more into video games, and movies, and yes, I suppose I did enjoy the occasional game, or movie, but it just wasn’t the same for me, movies especially. I’d play games with my friends when they wanted me to, although I didn’t own any consoles, and I’d watch the occasional movie with them, but it wasn’t the same to me. There was no fun in it, I didn’t have to use my imagination at all, everything was just given to me. The characters are dressed, and given personalities and accents. I’m not trying to say that the actors weren’t talented, because a lot of them are, gifted even, but it just wasn’t the same. One thing I refused to do, was watch a movie of a book I’d read. I hated it. The idea of ruining the world I had created, the characters I had shaped using my imagination. It would ruin it for me. I tried it for a few, and didn’t enjoy it in the slightest. Again, my friends thought this was weird, but I really didn’t care, they didn’t understand what it was like. All they cared about was watching people have their guts torn out, or shooting someone in the head with a carbine rifle. None of that really appealed to, I was a simple boy to say the least. Some people call me boring, but I just enjoy using what we were given, our minds. It might’ve been weird for a boy my age, but it helped me through a lot of long summer days, and instead of killing off my brain cells staring at a screen all day, I felt my vocabulary and knowledge grow after each book, so it was a win win situation really.
I spent quite a lot of my time inside, as you’ve probably gathered already. I wasn’t the sporty type, I just wasn’t built for it. I was tall, had pale skin, very skinny legs that could barely hold my own weight, and arms that looked like straws, so even when my parents did convince me to go join a team, I was more of a hindrance than anything. I suppose that’s why I took to books, more importantly writing books. What I lacked in physical ability, I more than made up for in intelligence. I was no straight A student, but I knew how to write a story, a good one at that. Writing the stories gave me a chance to reinvent myself, I could be anything I wanted to be, nothing could hold me back, this sense of freedom is what got me hooked. No one could laugh at me, call me names, I was the writer, I made the rules. If I wanted to be fifty feet tall and rampaging the city of Tokyo, I could do that, (and believe me, I have). I never really had any desire to leave my house, nothing outside could benefit me more than anything I could get inside. I wasn’t a total hermit, on occasion id go out with my friends, very rare occasions, but it bored me. I didn’t drink, I found the whole act of getting drunk and rowdy too animalistic, so I kept to myself wherever I could. I didn’t have a problem with that, I was happy in my own company. All I needed was a pen to write with, and a bed to sleep in.
As I grew older, my obsession with the whole dreaming thing grew stronger. Instead of dying off as it would for most kids. I think my writing fuelled my desire to dream more than ever. By this time I had books and books filled with my own fictions, on virtually every topic you could think of, it was quite the collection alright. It was coming up to my seventeenth birthday, it was about a month or so away. I felt like I was being forced to grow up too quickly, and dreams were my way out of that. I started to read a lot of online forums in my free time. They opened me up to a whole new world of people, ones just like me. Writers, illustrators, poets, even some publishers, but we all shared one common interest, dreams. Some used their dreams as inspiration for the novels they wrote, some were like me, using it as a brief escape from reality. There was one topic I never really paid much attention to, but my curiosity grew stronger and stronger. Lucid dreaming was something I tried to stay away from, it always worried me. In theory it sounded amazing, the ability to gain control of your own dreams, do whatever you want, go wherever you want, be whatever you want, but there was a dark side to it. There was a chance, be it a very small chance, that this could go wrong, that it would come to a point where I wouldn’t be able to distinguish between my dreams and reality, and that frightened me. I read stories about this online, it’s destroyed people mentally, some couldn’t take it anymore, some stayed without sleep for weeks on end to avoid it all, and that was something I just didn’t want to risk. As my curiosity grew stronger, my research took up more and more of my time, I would spend hours on end sitting at my computer, reading stories, watching documentaries, everything I could. I discovered another dark side of these lucid dreams. Astral projection. It was almost like an outer body experience, from what I’d read, your spirit leaves your body, and goes to what’s known as a ‘plane’, or another universe. It was a terrifying thought, not only that, but the fact that if you went too far into this, so called ‘plane’ you wouldn’t get back to our own. I was very sceptical about this, it all seemed a little far fetched, after all, it was just coming from some guy on a message board. I didn’t pay much attention to it, although whenever I would think about trying to lucid dream, it was always there in the back of my mind. Although the idea of it scared me beyond compare, I had to try it. I mean, if it went well, from what I heard it could be one of the most amazing sensations it’s possible to experience.
I kept a dream journal at the side of my bed, so each morning I woke up, the first thing I would do would be grab it, and write down everything I could remember about my dream, I hoped this would help me determine when I was in a dream. This became routine, every morning for the next few weeks, I had to do this, in hope that it’d help me know when I was in a dream. If I noticed any patterns, things that kept appearing, I could begin to tell when I was dreaming, that’s when it gets interesting. When I’m semi aware that I'm in a dream, I have to perform reality checks, to see whether or not it’s a dream or reality. A simple pinch on the arm usually does the trick. If I feel no pain, that’s when I become fully aware I’m dreaming. For the first couple of nights, I’d panic, and the panic would cause me to wake up. But after a week or so, it became the norm, none of it worried me anymore, I could stay fully lucid for up to an hour on some nights. I wasn’t worried about any of the health risks, I was only doing it on occasion, so nothing could possibly go wrong, right? No, I was wrong, I was very wrong. The sensation you get in a lucid dream is almost like that of a drug, I couldn’t stop, even when I wanted to, most nights, I’d accidentally fall lucid, and that worried me. I’d wake up straight away, but I’d be in such a state of panic that it would be near impossible to fall back to sleep. I decided it was best to take a break from it all.
I burned my dream journal, and for weeks, things seemed to be back to normal. I slowed down my writing, I felt my writing kept my mind too active, and that was causing my imagination to run wild as I fell asleep. I tried my best to get to sleep before ten o’clock, the mind is most active after that time. For once I felt like things were going well, I was no longer going lucid, my dreams seemed more tame, be it less imaginative, but that was a small price to pay. But it wouldn’t last long. I guess I’m just naturally curious, but when I see something I’m interested in I have this irresistible urge to read it from start to finish, I hated not knowing everything there was to know.
It was a calm night, I was home alone, my family had all gone out to dinner, I felt a little off so I decided to stay back. I had a lot of free time to kill, so I went on my computer. Checked my messages, e-mail, the usual. But I noticed an email in my box, it was from a member of that message board I loved. It was titled ‘progress’. I tried my hardest not to click it, but being the idiot I am, I thought it’d be harmless. I just wouldn’t pay attention to it. It was a person I received regular e-mails from in the past. It was a friend I had made on the message boards that would regularly check up on how my lucid dreaming was going. He hadn’t heard from me in a while, so he was just checking in. The e-mail in itself was pretty harmless, just the usual ‘hi, how’s it going?’ nothing out of the ordinary. But I think reading it tripped something in my mind. My parents arrived home and I went straight to bed, I was incredibly tired, I had just sat on my computer for the best part of four hours after all. But something was different. My dream was strange, I was there, in class, everything seemed so real. I went about my daily routine for school. Went to my locker, stopped to talk to my friends, for a while I genuinely forgot I was dreaming. I realised what was going on, so I pinched my forearm gently, nothing. I pinched it harder, still nothing. It happened again, the lucid dreaming started. The e-mail must have tripped something in my subconscious, it was out of my control. I thought one more wouldn’t hurt. I did nothing out of the ordinary, in my dreams I just took advantage of things I wouldn’t have access to in real life. I tried to keep it as close to reality as possible, which in theory was a very bad idea, but I didn’t see any harm in it. I’d talk to girls I wouldn’t have the confidence to approach in real life, id pass tests with flying colours, more than anything it was an ego boost. Because I liked to keep things simple, I wore the same clothes I owned while in my dreams, it made everything more real for me. I walked home from school by the same route I usually took, but in climbing under a fence, I snagged my jacket, a slight tear, I laughed it off. In the corner of my eye I noticed a tall black silhouette, almost taking the appearance of a man. I dismissed it, probably my mind reacting to a story I read earlier that night. I awoke from my sleep. It was a cold Saturday morning, but it was nice outside. It was nearing the end of autumn so I thought I’d go for a short walk through the forest to clear my head, while the trees still had that crisp, orange colour. I grabbed my jacket and went out the door, without saying anything to anyone, I had to, too much on my mind. I reached my hand into my pocket, and I noticed a slight tear, I thought for a second. Was that reality? Am I dreaming now? I pinched my arm, it hurt. I knew I wasn’t dreaming, so I dismissed the snag in my jacket, it must’ve just been a coincidence. I went about my day as normal, came home, sat on my computer, went to bed, the usual. I stayed up a little later than usual though, I had an essay to finish, so I didn’t get to sleep until the early hours of Sunday morning. When I fell asleep, things seemed normal, but I fell lucid again. Only this time I was in my room, asleep. I awoke, stepped out of bed, and looked outside, it was still dark. I grabbed a t-shirt and sat, looking out my window deep in thought. I noticed that silhouette in the corner of my eye, it sat there, at the bottom of my road. Not moving, I didn’t know whether to shout for help or to merely observe. I realised what was happening, I had a false awakening. I’d never experienced this before. I panicked. I closed my eyes, I awoke again, only this time, it was morning. The birds were singing, my neighbour was mowing his lawn, things seemed normal, I assumed I wasn’t dreaming. Most Sundays I tend to go for a jog, and that’s exactly what I did. I was in a horrible state mentally, I didn’t know what to think of all of this. I found it nearly impossible to distinguish between my dreams and reality. As soon as I got home, I rushed to my bedroom and locked my door. I went online to research what was happening to me. The lucid dreaming had confused my mind. It had no way of telling me whether or not I was dreaming. I was in a state of shock. I found myself pinching my arm every few seconds, but that wasn’t enough to tell whether I was awake or not. It seemed as though my mind was simulating pain while I was dreaming, I needed something more definitive. I took a pin out of my drawer, and pricked my thumb to see if I bled. Nothing came out. I started to think, I hadn’t fallen asleep yet, how could I be dreaming? Did I never wake up? I called for my parents, I got no reply. I ran downstairs as fast as my legs could physically carry me. I grabbed a knife from my kitchen drawer, a very large knife. I drew the blade straight across my leg. Again, nothing, the pain was unbearable, but nothing came out, it felt as though I wasn’t even in my body anymore. I rushed into the bathroom, splashed water onto my face and stared into the mirror. My eyes had gone from an ocean blue to a jet black. I placed my hand on my chest, I felt no heartbeat. I staggered back towards the wall and it hit me. My worst fears had become reality. I was in the astral plane, that’s why my family weren’t here. I ran outside and screamed I got no reply, everyone was gone. Everything was left as it was when I fell asleep, but no one was here. I knew I had to get back to my body before something else did, I ran straight back inside, and up to my room. I dived onto my lifeless body. Everything went black. When I awoke, I appeared to be floating above my body. I tried to re-enter it, but something was stopping me. I heard deep, heavy breaths come from the corner of my bedroom, followed by a low, demonic laugh. I looked over my shoulder. It was there, standing in the corner of my room, not moving, watching me as I wept. I glanced back over to my body, it shifted into an upright position, and stared at me, with those lifeless eyes, it gave me a smile, not a smile of happiness, the type of smile that sent a chill down your spine. It seemed as though it, and the silhouette in the corner of my room shared a connection. It extended its hand, the entity in the corner of my room reached out and grabbed it.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here now, I have no concept of time, i can’t even remember my own name. I’ll never find out what that thing did to my family, or any of the people i loved. All I can do now, is wait for someone as foolish as me to make the same mistakes i did. I’ve been watching someone for a while now, from his dreams, he hasn’t noticed me, but I’ve noticed him. He’s just as I was, foolish, weak, the perfect victim.
Thank you for reading, keep in mind that this may not be the greatest, i'm 15, but i enjoy writing literature, and would love to hear your opinions. The ending was a little rushed as i was pressed for time, but i hope you enjoyed none the less!