Dream Lucid

The narrator often looks at a story in the third person. A two way mirror between the experience and the exercise of control over it. A lucid dream allows that narrator to perceive the world as he sees fit while also accepting the boundaries placed by his own indoctrination. “This is already too heavy. Even if I read 2 pages a minute like a turtle, I’d still have to start this book from the beginning.” He turns the small black book upside down and places it open on his desk because a bookmark is a sign of unfinished thought. It’s the same reason he always ends on even numbered pages. As his eyes readjust to the blueish hue of the fluorescent lamp, he turns to peak at the written note on the wall where his bed is firmly pressed against. The instructions read “One. Picture yourself standing inside of a dark room where all the walls are painted black”. He goes to lay down, making sure his window is wide open, for the cold air sleeps well with him. He checks his phone's alarm settings to make sure it goes off in 6 hours. Right before he turns off his lamp, quickly glancing at the note one last time, and he says in his head “Two. Ask yourself Am I dreaming?” He closes his eyes. This room seems to create a deafening inner ear blare only heard in silence. Opening his eyes, he stares at this black wall in a room that seems to move further and further away from him. He closes his eyes again and repeats the instructions over and over. “Ok, black room, Am I dreaming, look at hands, engage with objects, manifest objects, check the time, pinch your nose.” He quickly grabs his nose but he doesn’t feel his hand touch them. “I’m breathing fine, yes! Ok, let’s go.” He starts jogging down the corridor looking left and right until he sees a window then rushes toward it. He places his forehead against the glass to peer inside. “This feels soft like my pillow” he thought feeling the glass warp due to the force of his pressing. “There it is” he said. He opens the window and climbs through it.

He grabs the closed black book with an oddly shaped, larger than usual bookmark. Flips to its page which seem to be dead center of the book and found the remainder of the book hollowed out with a thousand twenty dollar bills freshly printed as if they’d come straight from the federal reserve. A note on top reads “Am I dreaming?” The room around him began to shake until he closes his eyes tightly reminding himself that it is a dream. When he opens his eyes again, he’s lying in his bed submerged in darkness. He checks his phone with a time that should read 7am. He squints to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. Switching on the lamp as his eyes burn a hole on the closed book he swore he’d never close, he turns to his now illegible instructions on the wall. He begins counting with his fingers to see how many hours should have passed but can’t grasp the memory to keep track. He then goes to grab the book and flips to it 120th page. 'The middle of the journey creates a fork, the path forward and the path back’ he thought to himself as there was no sign of money. He slams the open book on the desk wondering how could he fool himself so easily. He stares at his window trying to remember if he'd left it open before returning to bed. 'This is what I get for midnight reading.' He closes his eyes. What feels like only minutes passing, his ears perk up at the sound of pages turning. He gets up to close the window. On his way back to bed, he looks at the open book on its first page because the wind couldn’t close the cover. He walks to the book and reads “Now that you’re half way through, when you sleep even, odd things happen when you awaken.” He walks over to his instruction list to where it says, ‘Engage with objects,’ then ‘manifest objects.’ He picks up his phone that reads 3am. He decides he should at least read for an hour. All he could think about was how the hell would twenty-thousand dollars fit in such a small book. Once the hour was over, he closes the book knowing the bookmark will save his place and puts it on his desk sighing to himself as he walks to bed. He closes his eyes to hopefully imagine the dark corridor he once visited but couldn’t gather thoughts until he slips in to deeper rest.

The alarm blares in his ears. He goes to silence it and looks at 7am in disgust as he wishes he had more time. He gets up and walks to his desk, again sees the oddly shaped bookmark sticking out. He flips to its page hoping he would find cash. He doesn’t. He then sees that the oddly shaped bookmark isn’t one at all but paper folded in half. He unfolds it to reveal its a check for twenty-thousand dollars with the memo line reading ‘Am I dreaming?’. Then he smirks and said out loud “That’s odd.” The End or was he dreaming?