Slipping Through Dreamlands
Glasya wanders through dreams belonging to others.
Written in 2nd person POV.
You drift off into unconsciousness, and drift into the lands of a dreaming mind…
You find yourself in a dingy underground room, surrounded by masses of unidentifiable faces. The crowd cheers and yells in excitement, their eyes peeled on the cage of the centre of the room. The floodlights white and hot, the campy entrance music threatens to burst your eardrums, an announcer calls the next challenger onto the stage. An oliveblood collects the last of the bets, you pull something out of your pockets and place it in the jar. You push past the crowd to make your way to the front, noting the vast majority wearing bright red checkered scarves tied somewhere on their person. The air becomes freezing the closer you get to the ring, frost creeping on the chain-link cage that separates the fighters from the crowd. You recognise the troll on stage; bruised, battered, and bleeding, but still standing. His eyes widen when he sees his next challenger, a tall and meek-looking blueblood with curly hair and a prominent underbite. You don’t know who that man is, but you can tell he’s not supposed to be here. He’s scared - they’re both scared - and the one you recognise screams that he can’t do it. You must fight, the announcer jeers, This is your punishment. The crowd’s yelling intensifies to unintelligibility, the shrieks and chants more like that of a wild animal. The fighter on the stage hesitates, he questions why? Why him? He doesn’t deserve to die! But he makes the decision. He clenches his fists, ice spreading across the floor and starts to creep up the horrified trolls’ legs… You turn away and head towards the exit before you hear the distinct crack of an ice sculpture being shattered.
The next night, your co-worker shoots you a glare when you pass him in the hallway. You pay him no mind.
You watch hundreds, or possibly thousands of crows circle the blood red sky. You get a gut feeling their calls are the names of the deceased. The pier creaks with every step, the grey waves crash with an intensity that threatens to split the supports in half. You ask the troll at the end of the pier what the deal is with all the crows. He laughs, shaking his head. Crows? Oh, goodness, no. There’s no crows in the sky. Only the last reminders of the dead. The messengers of my sins. The poor souls I could not save. You glance up at the sky. They look like crows to you. The troll continues to laugh, outstretching his arms to the sky. The pier creaks, and the old wood underneath him collapses. You watch the crows descend on the body like vultures to carrion. There is nothing left in the ocean but shards of cracked wood and seafoam.
You spy a fortune teller while browsing the market stalls. You decide to stop by to hear of your future.
You arrive at a party, wild and bustling. Everyone who’s anyone is here, but you know none of the guests. You take a glass of champagne off a waiter’s platter, leaving the ballroom floor for a moment of respite. This dress doesn’t suit you, much too frilly and over-decorated, but you fit right in with the crowd. You wander through the mansion, ascending staircases and entering every room with an unlocked door. The building sprawls out endlessly, a labyrinth of decadence and far, far too much wealth. You know where you need to go, the room is just beyond… The pool? Yes, there’s always been a pool on the third floor. You need to wade through the shallows to access the next door. You leave your shoes behind, they’re worth too much to get damaged by the chlorine. The water starts to reach your calves, your knees, your thighs, then finally your waist before you reach the end of the room. Opening the door causes the water to spill out onto the floor. Another hallway covered in paintings, and then you reach the master bedroom. The owner of the mansion stands on the balcony, and greets you before you can snoop around the single room that has any logical sense to it’s construction. You shrug when he asks if you’re enjoying the party. Hm. Another failure. Perhaps I’m losing my touch. You have no frame of reference for what he’s referring to. You suggest that next time he should really embrace the nightmare mansion vibes he’s got going on. It’s like a House of Leaves in here. He seems satisfied with the feedback.
A couple weeks later, you receive an invitation to a literary-themed party. You decline to attend.
You shiver as you make your way down the apartment hallway. The utilities must have been turned off again. It’s so cold… You’re so hungry. Where are the building’s inhabitants? The reports told you these apartments are occupied. You kick down a door, looking for any signs of life. The fridge and pantry are both empty. As are the ones in every other apartment. Your eyes adjust to the darkness and allow you to notice the bloodstains on the floor. Chalk outlines display where a body should be. Your conscious mind is relieved by the lack of entrails left behind. You zip up your coat and wrap your arms around yourself, but the cold is chilling you to the bone. You need to get out of here. Where is the staircase? The elevator opens up to a black void, the walls are made of styrofoam. You’ve lost the keys to the apartment. The hallway circles back around until you’re in front of the apartment door. You can feel warmth emanating from the other side, hear the quiet hum of multiple computers. The droning electrical noises drown out the bony footsteps of the animalistic creature wandering the halls. You twist the doorknob, but the apartment is locked. Its occupant tells you he’s busy, as the mournful howls of a starving wolf echo through the apartment complex. You’re so hungry, but the ghoulish beast is even hungrier. You don’t notice the monster behind you until its jaws crush your body with a single mighty snap.
HR receives a complaint from a Legislacerator’s Office in another town about you snooping around in other people’s business. You don’t understand why.
You’re dressed in what appears to be a school uniform, but the only schoolfeeding institutions you know that require them are ones from animated television shows. It’s exam time, and you haven’t studied for the Chemistry exam. You ask the orangeblood next to you if she’ll share your notes, and she agrees. She’s very chatty, it seems she knows a lot about the upcoming exams. She’s nervous about the Rescue Mission exam, because she needs to get into the hero course no matter what. Her quirk isn’t very flashy, but she can be a hero with it! You wonder to yourself what kind of school this is if it has superhero courses. You tell her she’ll be fine, you didn’t study at all because you know it’s going to be easy. She blushes, and thanks you. Another troll passes by the hallway window, their most prominent features being a large scar on their face and their hair dyed half-red and half-white. The orangeblood immediately gets out of her desk to chase after him, saying something about needing to do the exam with him. You think you recognise that person - No, character from a video you watched once. You get secondhand embarrassment from remaining in this dream for too long, and climb out the window to leave before the schoolfeeding instructor can give you detention.
You receive a friend request from someone with the username ‘unassumingObserver’ on your TikTok account, despite you only using that account to comment on videos. You leave it on read.
You doze off in your office, exhausted from your lack of a proper sleep this past week. You drift off into unconsciousness, and return to the visceral nightmares within your dreaming mind...