—wem—

Every night, I’d lay in bed, and as soon as I drifted off into my own world, one that wasn’t there, I was left with only the duty to wake up along with the sun.

Once awoken, all I could remember of the gap between the night and day was pitch. The void. Limbo. The emptiness of space, trapped inside of my mind. Not a story, not an adventure only me and myself, alone, could experience; but just... nothing.

As I ventured through the day, I could remember hearing stories that my friends would tell me and the others, of their ‘bizarre dream’, and how a giant sea-snake had viciously attacked a gingerbread city; all I could do in return was imagine what it felt like. I, obviously, didn’t know. I knew I never would.

And that’s how it always was. In the past, in the present, and most likely the future—I’d depend on my friends to imagine how dreams would be, although I never understood; and I’d never be able to understand.

Now, I am back home, slipping my backpack and shoes off, relieved to have gone through another day unscathed and untaunted, at least by an external force. The house is empty, just like my dreams. I still can’t get it out of my head. I can’t stop thinking of the dreams others would have, and ones I hadn’t.

Shaking my head, I walk up the stairs to my mother’s room. That was the only place with a computer, and I really needed to get that history essay over with. I sit at the desk, powering on the motherboard and desktop, watching as the screen lit up the dark room.

The password is entered. I browse through the files on the computer, trying to search for the draft I had of the essay; in no way was I going to start again, not after typing three full paragraphs. N o p e.

I spot a folder I remember seeing before, but it stood out... more, for a concealed reason. Nonetheless, I drag the cursor so it hovers over the icon, and press my index finger down on the mouse.

I made a mistake.

In the folder, there were a few more; an inception of files. And one of them had a title that made my skin scrawl uncomfortably. Everything felt cold.

File Name:

“His Dreams”

Last checked: 11 March, 2018

This was a mistake, right? It obviously couldn’t be MY dreams. I mean- that didn’t work scientifically. There was no way my dreams could be taken and stored in technology. Nope.

Even if it couldn’t be my dreams, there was no harm in checking, right? I move my shaky, sweaty palm so the cursor was over the file, and, with hesitation, click it.

Send threats to fans, VAs, or Production staff.

Spread hateful rhetoric about ships/characters.

Are an anti.