The most difficult thing about writing down your dreams…

…is the urge to make story out of them. I used to keep a dream journal, but kept repeatedly losing it, or the pen, or just plain forgetting to write anything down, but I still remember some of the dreams I put in there very vividly. For a while now I’ve been working on a short story that was inspired by a dream I had, and I should be able to publish it soon. I’ve just had… some difficulty in converting the dream to something a human can understand in story format, I guess.

In the dream I was at these abandoned ruins with my mother, and the entire structure was mostly in tact but with one giant television screen on one wall inside. People were gathered around it, watching a woman who was tied up and being filmed. I think it was a stream from somewhere terrible in the deep web. I wanted to save her, so I went to the basement of the ruins and had to fight a giant skeleton to release her using only the power of music. It worked, I saved the girl, and then left the monument. Outside of it was no longer lush and green, but a desert, and also I had been transported to the year 5000. I was concerned about my own disappearance, and had to use a time traveling vibrator in order to open a portal to my best friend’s bathroom mirror and tell him what happened, and that I loved him.

…It’s not an easy dream to turn into a story, that’s for sure. But I’m working on it. Unfortunately I had to cut out the my mother, the girl, the vibrator, giant skeleton, and fighting using the power of music. As awesome as it was to dream about doing that, it’s just not going to work. However, I am making a story loosely based around the ruins or whatever, and being transported so far into the future. That’s not a huge spoiler alert.

 

Always returning

Always returning

Some people have an allure to them, an absolute chemical and social attraction that draws in even the most strong willed of minds. He had a draw like that, and each time he came back to me, my life was ruined.

We dated for two years. He taught me to play chess and I showed him all the best spots to hang out. He read philosophy notes to me over the phone while I dozed off. I drew him pictures and left cute notes in his hoodie pockets while he saved up his allowances to take me to see plays and fairs. I was so in love, and he was so in love.

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