Dream Sad Novels & Stories

“O-oh. S-sorry.” I just smiled at her and continued. “I badly wanted to see her again to ask her why did she do it. I terribly missed her, so I thought that lucid dreaming was my last resort to reunite with her again. The conversation don’t often make sense, but it’s still worth it since I had the chance to meet her again,” I said. “S-sorry to h-hear that,” she apologized.

Her cries ceased just as the bugs crawled away from her body leaving just bones behind. I screamed and ran and ran until I got home, slamming the door shut and locking it. I slid down to the floor and did what I've been doing for three months now. I cried. *sorry for your loss*

Each shared experience, once a source of joy, now carried the weight of longing, a testament to the void left by Sophia's departure. Sandra's grieving heart became a canvas where the hues of sorrow blended with the brushstrokes of cherished moments. The depth of her sadness was etched in the furrowed lines on her forehead and the glistening tears that lingered in the corners of her eyes. The room, once vibrant with the echoes of their shared laughter, now bore witness to a solemn solitude—a space where Sandra grappled with the absence of her dearest friend, finding both comfort and heartache in the fragments of their shared past.

(sukoon pov) As I step into the room, a heavy sadness descends upon me like a suffocating blanket. The air feels thick and stagnant, as if it holds the weight of unshed tears and lingering despair. The once vibrant colours of the surroundings have faded, drained of their life and vitality. Shadows dance in the dimly lit space, casting elongated figures that mirror the desolation within.

Isaac suddenly contorted his face in raw pain and sadness, as if something deep had been triggered within him by Adrian's words. In that instant, Isaac became distraught, tears flooding his eyes. "What's wrong?" Adrian asked, concerned about lacing his voice. Isaac inhaled deeply, his chest trembling with emotion. "Just reminds me of my sister who is lost," he said through an agonizing voice. The words seemed to echo, a sad remembrance of the deep scars that Isaac had within himself.

My hands won't stop shaking. It was just a dream. But dreams come from somewhere. From fears. From guilt. From the truth we don't want to face during the day. I love them. All three of them. And loving three people means someone gets hurt. Always. "You okay?" I jump. Spin around. Sadie stands in the kitchen doorway. Hair messy. Eyes half-open. Wearing that old robe she's had since college. "Bad dream," I manage. She looks at me for a long moment. Then walks over. Pours herself water. Sits beside me.

Sadie's meticulously applied makeup was marred by her tears, giving her the appearance of a disheveled mess. "Yaslyn," Sadie whispered, "you're kind-hearted, aren't you?" Yaslyn chuckled, her lips curled in disdain as she pulled away. "You leave me be, I leave you be. I never claimed to be kind-hearted." From Yaslyn's words, Sadie realized the bleak truth—she was not going to be let off easily. Resigned, she sat on the ground, silent tears streaking her face. Fear had gripped her heart. She could not predict what would happen next. All she knew was that she was doomed.

All unanswered. Celeste, please talk to me. I’m so sorry. I miss you. No response. Nothing. My heart sinks deeper with each message I read, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might actually lose her. For real this time. And I don’t know how to fix it. “I just wish I could take it all back,” I whisper, mostly to myself. Sadie looks at me, her eyes soft but sad. “Me too, Tam. Me too.”

I'm mentally exhausted, dear diary. I miss Campbell, I miss Ivy and Alicia, i muss my former school. I miss Lisa. Yes, Lisa was a big bully but I still miss her. I killed her, and I feel so bad about it. I wish I could have stopped the accident, I wished she had believed my dream and I wish I hadn't had any dream in the first place. I hate using inhalers but I'm getting used to it. I hate not having anyone to text, apart from mom and dad and granny. Diary, please keep me awake till morning, I really feel very sleepy..."

While I’m thrilled not to be on that torture rack and to have Katrina with me, something feels wrong. Like a hurt in my heart that’s not mine. Sure I have plenty of reasons for my heart to hurt like this. My parents were murdered, my pack was massacred, my best friend was executed, and I’m in a coma. I can’t seem to wake up despite knowing my other best friend, my mate, and their pack is in danger. So many reasons to feel this sadness, yet I know it’s not mine.