Lucid Dreams

The forest stood in front of me, dark hunched soldiers at the ready for battle. Guarding their fortress in the dead of night as only the bone white moon cast a leery eye upon them. The wind rustled the dried and dead fall leaves, scratching at my ear and

tickling my fears. I held my breath, lungs burning as anxiety clutched tightly at my windpipe. I hadn't been here in years. But it didn't last, the darkness of the forest faded and in moments the sun beamed brightly down, my eyes squinting as the rays of

light struck mountainous sand dunes. Light was now everywhere, the white blindness just as horrifying as the black night. The air was so parched, so dry and blistering that I felt as if my body were disintegrating into the sand itself.

Panic plagued my heart, blood was rushing in my ears as I realized this was no typical dream. I was always in control of the dreamscape, ALWAYS. But now, here in this reality, I found myself powerless as some THING shifted my landscape like flipping

stations with a remote. I had to get out, I had to get back in MY dreamscape. ... Ever since I was a small child, I loved going to sleep. Most parents argued with their children to get them to climb in, close their eyes and let their body and mind

rest for the evening. I was never that child, I loved to sleep. I loved to dream. At first I thought it was normal to I would awake in the dreamscape, I always knew it was the world of dreams by my sudden ability to fly or use my superpowers or

conjure a tiger with wings by merely thinking about it. I told my parents about this and they always brushed it off. I would tell friends, family members and strangers in the doctor's or dentists office about my amazing dream world.

My parents would gently nudge me then give the person a big smile, "She has an active imagination." And the two would chuckle and I knew that was my cue to be quite and not mention my nightly adventures. As I grew older, the power to control my dreams

became effortless. While some kids left the dream world behind, I became infatuated with mine, obsessed even. By the age of 13 I knew all about lucid dreaming , I was studying Jung dream theories by 16 and decided to double major in humanities and

psychology my freshmen year of college. Here I was, my last year of grad school and working on my dissertation, which as one could guess was all about the historical and psychological context of lucid dreaming. It was as

I was writing this paper that I drifted off into my slumber and this nightmare began. Now I stumbled through the deep sand trying desperately to find some sort of shelter. But just as my foot hit the sand water splashed and continued to swell upward,

past my knees and hips, up to my chest and shoulders until I was choking on the salty liquid. Waves crashed over my head and sent me down into a deep blue as I thrashed and churned. The swishing sounds of the ocean encased me, my world glowed deep blue

and the depths of the ocean began swallowing me whole. I could usually breathe under the water in my dreams, but here I was as helpless as I was during the wake of day. I tried sucking in oxygen, tried desperately to believe it would be sweet air

but choked and squirmed as the liquid filled my lungs. The darkness grew and I felt myself fading, I knew I was going to die here. I was going to be MURDERED in a dream that was not my own. I heard the soft swishing of waves, I

could feel the life leaving me when the small chuckle crept from within my own mind. "I'm disappointed, Eliza. I thought you were truly worthy, my God how wrong I was!" I snapped awake and went to gasp for air, only to find myself in the midst of sleep

paralysis. This came with the territory, a side-effect of the lucid dreams. But I knew I was still in that things grasp, it was toying with me. I was a mouse with a broken spine, but still alive and conscious as those big cat eyes stared at me hungrily,

ready to taste my blood, take my life. There it was, the shadow figure. It always lurked when I was frozen in the timeless place. The theory was it was our fear manifesting as a cultural archetype, the humanoid shape we knew so well with the

primal fear we instinctively clung to. My vision was blurry, I could only see a pinhole of my white, swirled plaster ceiling and the shadow figure on my left. My eyes were opening more now, the slowly swinging ceiling fan came into view, the shadow

became more defined. The shadow never took on a face, not ever. But flesh started to materialize, dark ringlets of hair fell around her face. Dark blue eyes stared down at me and I realized I was staring at my own reflection. She leaned down next

to my ear as pure, unsolicited terror trickled down my spine and swarmed my mind like a hive of bees. "I'll be waiting for you, Eliza... Dream a little dream of me."