I haven’t written one of these for a while. Not that I haven’t been recording my dreams, I’ve just been focused on other kinds of content. I have a huge backlog of dreams to write up, so let me know if you want to see more of this kind of thing.
I found myself in a subterranean concrete tunnel. I had a flashlight and soon spotted someone else with a light of their own. When I asked them about this place, they told me it’s an old tunnel system that passes under the town, that’s been repurposed to connect the shopping center we came from to a parking structure.
The tunnel is unlit, but as I sweep my light around I can see shiny damp spots on the ground. Eventually it opens up into some kind of industrial or sewer type area? Lots of brass boilers, fuse boxes and iron pipes. I run into someone else, looks to be in his 20s with short black hair, wearing a denim jacket.
“Help me get this gate open.” He hands me a multi tool of some kind. I follow him up a stairwell and sure enough there’s a gate. When I try to use the tool I accidentally drop it and it clatters all the way down the steps. He sighs in frustration, then heads down the stairs to retrieve it.
Then I hear him scream. I look over the edge to see, at ground level in this underground chamber, he is lying dead with some kind of oily black blob creature looming over him. It then looks straight up at me and begins hurriedly ascending the staircase as I struggle to open the gate without the tool.
It reaches me and I black out. Then the whole sequence starts over from when I reach the industrial sewer chamber. This time I don’t drop the tool, and make it through the gate easily. But this is also where I begin to suspect none of it’s real, because I remember dying and coming back.
Next area is tram ride. I look around the tram and see everybody from the previous area sitting in it, riding along a forested path along the side of a mountain. Thick leaves to one side, the other overlooks a lush valley.
When I next look at the black hair guy, he has become the blob creature, which then suddenly attacks me. I black out again, but wake up at the top of the stairwell with the gate hanging open. The next time I ride the tram, I remember not to look at him.
When he asks why, without looking I tell him I think we’re inside a game of some kind. I tell him I remember dying before and restarting in the tunnels. He says he remembers something like that happening to him now and agrees it is probably a game.
The next area is some sort of alpine touristy area with parking lot, quarter operated binoculars, a rest stop and a tunnel clogged with destroyed cars. The cars are expensive, lambos, porches, bmw, etc. evidently an affluent area. “We made it!” I shout with relief.
The black haired guy seems morose. “Yes, we made it. But that means the game is over.” The others overhear him say this. Some are confused. Others seemingly understand his meaning and become distressed, just as the dream comes to an end.
This has happened a few times before. Characters in my dreams will, rarely, express some degree of self awareness about the fact that they’re in a dream. Not specifically a dream this time, but he knew it wasn’t real. It is a bitter and melancholy thing to make friends in dreams.
Sometimes to start a family in a dream. To fall in love, go on adventures and meet wonderful people. To make a whole cozy life for yourself…only for it all to fade and vanish when you wake up. All of those familiar, friendly faces somehow turn out to have been fake all along.
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