Novel & Cerita Dream Prison

It was pouring out there. He released a long breath and told himself that he really wasn’t to blame for the crap he dreamed. Most of the time he didn’t remember it anyway – probably a good thing. And thinking about good things: as sick and twisted as this Liz-in-action dream may have been, he probably had to consider himself lucky that he hadn’t had the same kind of dream with Danny as the hands-on protagonist. That, he realized, would have thrown him back light-years… London, D’s hotel room 6:30 am

The room was deathly silent except for the frantic beat of my heart in my ears. His low voice and the one from my dreams overlapped, weaving into a single key that unlocked my carefully built self-deception with a sharp click. He was Mr. Y—the man who sang off-key love songs to me at midnight, and the very same one who had chastised me relentlessly in the day. I stared at him. His handsome face was so close, and the usual coldness and distance were gone, replaced by a fragile, pleading vulnerability. The light in his eyes flickered like a candle tossed all night by a stormy wind.

Akira replied, then down from the guardrail and stood in front of Lee Umji. "It must have been quite a while after waking out of the coma, before she came here, right?" Lee Umji guess thought of something. Akira nodded slowly. "How do you know?" Lee Umji took a deep breath. "I think Kim Hana wrote the Daydream script like a will. But before finishing it, my body fell back into a coma."

Then, with a sharp click, the door hissed open. The room beyond was a nightmare. The light was cold and white, reflecting off endless rows of servers. In the center of the room, chained to a steel platform, was Dream. My breath caught. His body hung limp, restrained by metal cuffs that glowed faintly with blue light. His skin shimmered with the same eerie hue, as though the virus had etched itself into his veins. The machines around him pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, feeding on his energy. I rushed forward, but the system’s voice stopped me.

I had trouble falling asleep. I had a persistent dream that kept coming back to me, a terrifying nightmare of Ciara almost dying in her prison cell. I startled awake, the scene still clear in my mind, and sweat covered my skin. I remembered trying to save her, fighting against an unseen force that held me just out of reach, and desperation ripped at my chest.

*you cannot stop it* I will! I will!! In the process of trying to get the bracelet off, I didn't see the car approaching me and before I could move away, it hit me. Hard. I fell to the ground staring at the bright sky. So this is how I was going to die. I smiled to myself. At least it wasn't as horrific as the others. I was crazy even at my dying moment. I start feeling dizzy, black spots covered my vision. Goodbye world. My eyes slid shut hearing the last words that didn't make any sense. *this is your future* Then I woke up.

Not imprisoned in the traditional sense, but trapped nonetheless in elaborate delusion his own damaged consciousness had constructed. Unable to perceive his actual circumstances, unable to experience the justice of institutional custody, unable to escape the fantasy that had become his permanent reality. "It's almost poetic," I said as we drove away from Riverbend. "The man who tried to manipulate consciousness, who participated in research that damaged reality perception, now permanently trapped in consciousness he can't trust, reality he can't accurately perceive." "It's horrifying," Damian countered. "Regardless of poetic justice, watching someone's mind destroy itself completely is distu

"My mom is stuck in a wheelchair forever because of you! My life is ruined forever because of you! I can't stand looking at your fùcking filthy face! You don't deserve to be cooking happily in the kitchen. You deserve to be locked up somewhere in a small stinky room with no sun. Atleast there, you won't kill someone innocent or force them to a wheelchair forever. Prison is your place." My heart stops. **** My heart is pounding so hard and loud when I wake up from the nightmare. My nightdress is soaked in sweat. My hands are still shaking. My fingers are trembling. My hair is a mess. One side of my pillow is wet with sweat. I sit up in bed and bury my face in my hands, trying to shake off the

Never had she witnessed such blatant shamelessness. Mya's thoughts swirled into the quiet chaos of sleep, her grip on her plushy the only anchor to her reality. In the nebulous realm of dreams, she found herself adrift in an ominous forest, the breath of an unseen predator hot on her neck. Then, without warning, a figure of menace materialized, thrusting her into a cage and clamping cold shackles around her wrists, his threat hanging in the air — obedience or eternal captivity. As the dream's fog lifted, the man's identity sharpened into focus. It was that man in the prison warden uniform.

Modern, furnished and beautiful and looking new everyday although the house was five years old already. Juana's coffee was transparent, lot of water,lot of sugar, no milk. So she could see her face while sipping at it. Her big blue eyes were a bit undefined, her expression showed fear with a mixture of helplessness and unusual calm. Then the dream came again. Avocado. Garden. Branch. Third branch. Corpse dripping with blood. Loose. Screaming. Empty House. Dream. "Oh my goodness" she sighed, dropping her half empty mug. She tried to make meaning out of it, but it was a little creepy..