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where the sky is pink and red and orange
the sweet, earthy air is smothering
clinging to your skin in a sweaty embrace
it sounds like lightning is near
but you still feel alone
when the weather is warm but it's raining
there's a weight in your chest
like love or misery
or maybe both
it's an irreplaceable feeling
a longing you'll never have again
an ache you'll never feel again
a summer you'll never live again
a taste you'll never forget
1
Typically, when I dream, I am able to somewhat recognize that I'm asleep—that what
I'm experiencing isn't reality. I will either exist in my dreams as another version
of myself or I'll view another character's perspective as if I was some sort of
omniscient being. Even with this understanding, I very intensely feel everything my
dream self feels; when I awaken, I oftentimes am still reeling from the emotions and
sensations I experience while unconscious. I describe my dreams as my own
experiences. I feel as though I'm living another life in another world, but I can't
control what I do or say.
This dream I had was particularly terrifying. I didn't realize that it was just a
dream until I awoke.
I was in my bedroom when water began pouring out of the air vent on my ceiling in a
thick stream. It was unusual and inexplicable. I quickly grew anxious and called my
father for a solution or at least a possible explanation.
But all he said was, "Don't worry about it." He repeated this to me a couple times
before I
decided to hang up.
My dream self had thought, Fuck! Am I so far gone that my delusions have taken
over completely and
manifested
in reality? I believe my dream self was referring to the fact that I am
prone to hallucinations in real life.
I don't remember what happened between the call with my father and what came after,
but what happened next was incredibly disturbing.
When I focused my attention back on my bedroom ceiling, I saw that the panel for the
air vent was missing and what hung from it now was a somewhat large red, plastic
bucket
with a cover you could screw on or off. The cover had not been screwed on, sitting
on top of the bucket at a slightly tilted angle. Suspended by a thick rope, the
bucket was
slowly lowering on its own.
Too stunned to move, my dream self hadn't moved from his spot. He could only stare
as this large, slimy humanoid with sickly pink skin and spindly limbs began to
crawl out of the seemingly bottomless bucket. It opened its wet mouth, revealing
sharp, bloodied teeth.
The last I remember from that dream was my dream self attempting to wound the
creature with a large pair of scissors.
2
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