It Was All a Dream, Right?

photo of empty dimly lit hallway
Photo by Deepain Jindal on

Richard’s eyes snapped open, he found himself on his bed sweating and breathing hard.

“It was all a dream?”

He looked at his hands and saw words written on them…

“It was not a dream.”

Richard screamed and leapt backwards away from his hand.

“What the-” His mind raced. How did this get here? What happened? What was my dream – no, nightmare about again?

A knock on the door broke his train of thought.

“Yo, Richard? What’s with all the screaming?” It was his big brother William on the other side.

“No-nothing… ”

“You OK?”

“Yeah, I just tripped on something.” William must have been satisfied with that answer, Richard guessed for his brother left after answering back an “OK.”

Tripped my ass. That was more of a mind trip.

Richard looked at his hand again. It was scribbled in an unfamiliar script. He grabbed one of the pieces of paper littered on his study table and compared his handwriting to it. They were completely different. His handwriting looked like a mess – as if two chickens had been scratching at the sand, thought the other was stealing its food, and had a fight about it. The note on his hand, however, looked clean, despite being written on an unstable and terrible surface.

He closed his eyes, and willed his mind to recall what happened.

Darkness. He could see nothing, but in the corner of his heart, he could feel fear. There was a deep desire to flee, the same way that an animal, when faced with inexplicable danger is forced to make a choice between fighting and fleeing .

He kept his eyes closed and focused his attention to that fear.

Running. He was running inside a dark corridor, and someone was running beside him.

Richard clenched his fist and gritted his teeth in an attempt to increase his concentration, which may, hopefully make the image in his mind clearer.

Darkness gripped his vision again and the figure in front of him – the faint shadow of what seems to be a person, vanished.

Richard opened his eyes. He was back in his room with the morning sun gently peeping through the curtains of his window.

He looked at his hand.

His eyes grew wide as saucers when he saw the note written on it had vanished.

Was I still dreaming? Was there even something there to begin with?


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Author: jomz

Web Designer and Developer, Graphic Artist. Writer.

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