Dreams About Your Teeth Crumbling Novels & Stories

We had been through a lot, and we just wanted some peace, but as things were, peace seemed to be drifting away from us quickly, and I did not know if I could hold on to it any longer. I woke up and looked at my husband sleeping peacefully. He was handsome even in his sleep, and I wondered if I looked that good while sleeping because often I wake up and realise I have a bit of drool on the side of my mouth. Talk about sleeping with your mouth open. I have been doing a lot of that lately. I was yet to tell him my dreams. I was yet to tell anyone about it because I was scared deep down that they weren't dreams, but visions, visions of what was to come.

She smiled brightly at me and I could see a few missing teeth, “almost ruined the plan because of it.” Inhale. Exhale. I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering, “what plan?”

Dad teased back. A few hours into my sleep, I awoke. I tend to have nightmares, and they are about me. I kept having the same dream over and over and over again. Me facing a mirror, with my reflection staring back at me, but it was way more different from me, her eyes were ash and black and gold mixed together. It was appealing like it showed so much self-control and power but it was also scary. My mouth had excess blood that had dried and my fangs were shown, along with my claws. They were drenched in blood, I couldn't tell if it was human or not and then my dream would end when I look at my reflection and it would smile back at me.

The photos are taken to immortalize this joy as so many testimonies to these moments of happiness. That morning, shaken by a nightmare in which her teeth frantically loosened from her jaw, she pushed back her sheets and got out of bed as dawn showed on the horizon. Looking lost, she stood in front of the mirror revealing truths, opened her mouth to check the presence of her teeth. Phew, they did not escape! She said to herself, relieved. She wanted to send all her thanks to her mirror, but seized by another anguish, she hurriedly left the room as if this bad dream was the harbinger of a darker omen.

“I’ll leave you to it.” I get up and brush my teeth. All the while, I’m thinking about the dream. I’m getting shivers even now, and there’s this bitter taste in my mouth that no amount of toothpaste can get rid of. I’m just flustered by what happened, and I hate that I had to have such a dream.

My teeth stopped grinding into the rosy fruit once I realized the chewy texture and unsweetened taste did not match the usual crunch-filled juicy bite with sweet and sour flavorings. I glanced down at it. My eyes widened at the horrid maggot-infested heart beating in my hands. I let out a terror-filled scream and dropped the squishy human organ on the ground. More maggots slid out the hole I created when l dug my teeth into what I thought was an apple. I jumped hysterically in fear at the vomit-inducing heart still beating on the ground.

My parents appeared in my dream and i woke up crying so hard. Thank Goodness i wasn't loud enough to wake anyone up. I choked while i tried to calm myself down. The soreness from the previous night was still present and it made everything worst. I ran to the bathroom and threw up everything i had eaten into the toilet. I rinsed my mouth and drank some water to help stop the tingling in my mouth. I slowly walked back to my bed and pulled the blanket over my head. The tears didn't seem to stop flowing. My pillow became damp with tears.

It feels like some sort of walk of shame, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and instantly my brain shoves that night with Dorian back into focus. Like I need more reminders. The dream about him already has me restless, and I can’t figure out if I’m annoyed or turned on. I tug my shirt over my head and cringe at the damp patch clinging to my back from sweat. I have to be running a fever. At least that would make sense of the dirty dream. I let the shirt drop, shove my way out of my jeans, and think only of one thing. A toothbrush. I need a toothbrush. I rummage through the cabinet above the sink, then crouch down and yank open the one underneath.

CHAPTER 7 Though sleep was challenging, Jeff managed to doze, but the dreams that followed seared his subconscious like a fire poker. In one, the dead fly in his vomit came to life and buzzed from the wastebasket, landing on his lips. He tried to blow it away, to spit it out when it crept down his throat, but the insect forced itself into his stomach where he could feel its vibrating hums as it laid batches of eggs. His gut grew heavy and bloated, swelling to twice its normal size as hundreds of maggots burst forth, eating their way out from the inside. He fought to scream, but larvae filled his lungs, suffocating him.

“I wobbled a bit on a self-destructive path. The smoking didn’t last too long - well, except for the odd hit of a cigar once in a blue moon -” I open my mouth to protest. “And I know that’s not the brightest, either,” he says, cutting me off. “At any rate, it’s been a long time, but I still dream about it every once in a while. As you can see. Usually, it’s an anxiety dream. I’ve wrecked my health from it and I wake up with my chest aching.” The squeaks of rats echo around us, as they scurry in the shadows. “When was the self-destructive path?”