Dreams Of Teeth Crumbling Novels & Stories

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.

“Mom…” And I ran—like a child lost for far too long. Their arms wrapped around me, warm and grounding. I let myself sink into them, letting the tears fall without shame. They didn’t ask questions. They just held me tighter, like they already knew my world was collapsing from the inside out. “I… I’m scared,” I whispered through sobs. “The dreams are getting worse. I can smell the blood. I can feel the cold. And every time I wake up, I feel like… I’ve lost someone I never even had the chance to save.”

But months had passed, and she still hadn’t returned to her office. I didn’t mind, really. It kept my mind busy. Between rebuilding projects, patrol rosters, and managing supplies, I barely had time to think. Which was the point. Because when I did think, I heard them again. The cracking bones. The fading growls. The sound of men dying. I had not told anyone about the dreams. Every night, the same thing. The same screams. The same flashes of silver and red. I’d wake before dawn, sweat soaking through my shirt, the silence too heavy to breathe through.

She pulled away and looked at me "My dream" "Come on, are you blaming yourself now? His death must have been a coincidence with your dream" I tried to believe as much as possible. "Let's go home" *** "Lunch is ready sweetie" mom called and I jumped out smiling. She carried a tray of cookies in her hands, walking towards me but she suddenly jerked and the tray fell off her hands to the floor, the cookies lettered all over her feet.

I coyly smiled at him as I asked, “What are you talking about? How do you know what I'm dreaming?” “I know because every time you have that dream you talk in your sleep. You talk about Laylan, Artimous, Grealan and Ivy. Then you're hard to wake up after that. I was just curious as to what your dream was about,” he finished and his lips curled at the edges into a smile.

“No problem.” ………………………………………………. “Good morning everyone, how was your night?” Chris asked a bunch of people sitting in front of a TV. Different set of eyes balanced on him “How are you dear?” The most elderly woman amongst the bunch asked. “I think I would be fine.” He replied Concern creeped into her face “Why is that?” “I had a disturbing dream in the midnight and I don’t remember anything about it” Chris said with his mouth full of toast bread and a cup of coffee on his hand.

The cacophony of my anguish reverberated through the disintegrating dreamland, an anguishing symphony reflecting the unraveling threads of my sanity. "Liam!" My voice, strained with fear, echoed in a crescendo of torment. The name reverberated into the void, intertwining with the macabre backdrop of the collapsing castle and the sinister whispers of the distorted elders. Each scream carried the weight of my powerlessness, a plea for salvation drowned in the surreal nightmare that held me captive.

“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?”

ADAIRA ** I had weird dreams. Dreams of wars and death that seemed more like memories I have lived through or will live through in the future. In every one of these dreams, I saw a different version of me, with white hair and white eyes. I saw my grandmother again, she was warning me to hurry, telling me that we were running out of time. I tried to ask her questions but I could not do so in my dream, it was like there was a barrier between us and she kept being pulled away from me and out of my reach.

But the remnants of the dream still clung to me, haunting my thoughts and fueling my unease. I reached out for a glass of water on the nightstand, my hands trembling with the remnants of the dream's intensity. Sipping the cool liquid, I allowed it to soothe my parched throat and ground me in the present moment. But the fever still raged within me, a relentless reminder of the inner turmoil I had been experiencing. As I lay back down, my mind raced, attempting to dissect the meaning behind the unsettling dream. Was it a manifestation of my fears and anxieties? A reflection of the crumbling aspects of my life that felt beyond my control? Or was it a mere product of a fevered imagination?