Novel & Cerita Reality Vs Dream

The pressure of that attention nearly erased thought entirely. Not from force. From scale. The awareness beneath existence was unimaginably old. And unimaginably alone. Then— It spoke. Not with sound. Meaning pressed directly into the dream. YOU CONTINUE DESPITE ENDING. The shoreline shook violently. Several dreamers disappeared instantly— Waking up screaming across connected realities. Luke forced himself to stay standing. “Yes.” The shape shifted beneath the water. Reality struggled to define it continuously. WHY. The question carried no mockery. No challenge.

Every single word felt like a poisonous knife, slashing the image of the kind, sensible, and innocent young lady Raymond had always had of Tracy, leaving her completely unrecognizable. His bodyguard asked in a trembling voice, "Should we still go in, Mr. Johnson?" Raymond closed his eyes and turned to leave, saying, "Don't tell her that I was here." Raymond went back to the manor and drowned his sorrows in wine, one glass after another. He recalled everything that Tracy had just said. She faked being the person who saved his life because she only wanted to marry into wealth. She abandoned the pregnant Melanie by the roadside and robbed her of her chance to be a mother.

My eyes darted toward him on instinct, checking if he was waking up, checking if he was safe, checking if this glitching nightmare could somehow touch him. He slept on, unaware, his fingers curled loosely beside mine. “Dream’s influence? You mean his choices?” I asked. The system buzzed loudly, like a dying engine trying to restart and failing. “Dream’s wish conflicts with reality.” I froze. A hollow ringing echoed in my ears. “What wish?” I whispered.

I wake up with tears on my cheeks and Silas's concerned face hovering over mine. "Another nightmare, my precious one?" His fingers brush away the tears with infinite gentleness. "You're trembling." "It wasn't a nightmare." The words come out before I can stop them. "It was beautiful." Something flickers across his face. Too quick to identify. But his voice stays warm. "Dreams can be deceiving, my love. They show us false hopes. False possibilities." He pulls me closer, and his embrace should feel comforting. "Reality is here. With me. In this perfect world I've built for us."

The longer this day went on, the more I started to believe— This wasn’t a dream. What if everything I remembered—everything I lived—was the real dream? What if this was my reality? What if none of that ever happened?

He smiled the same way and relaxed his posture, as if he were just having a conversation. "I don't know who you are," I retorted, making an effort to maintain my voice. He looked at me with a head tilt. I think you do. You have always known me inside of you. I took a big gulp and walked away. You are not real. It's just an imagination. “Is it?” As he got closer, his eyes lit up. Dreams reveal more than you might think. You can see the truth in them if you are brave enough to look.

No one comprehended the peculiarity of being a dreamer. There’re levels and layers. You could be awake and asleep. Or asleep and awake. It confused the brain about which reality you were in. There’re so many. She could count at least four she was aware of. Consciousness, the Dream Realm, unconsciousness, and then you have one where it’s a tossup between the three. The fourth one can be troublesome since it can lead to inappropriate actions or words. Or the opposite. Either way, there’re regrets are there.

I had no job, no savings, and the constant, gnawing hunger of a man who didn't know where his next meal was coming from. My dreams are getting more and more real. I’m having a hard time tell them apart, even though I have a wife and good job and two lovely kids, I keep feeling like my dream was actually reality, where I live with a roommate with no job and no kids and no money. The sensory details of the apartment were terrifyingly vivid. I could feel the grit of the linoleum floor under my bare feet; I could hear the distant, rhythmic thumping of a neighbor’s bass. Most disturbingly, I could remember things in the dream that I didn't know in the "real" world—the specific pin code to a broke

“Physical, real to the touch…” “Could that not be described as your mind telling you it’s real? So how do you know for sure that you are real?” His fingers slowly caress my arm from wrist to shoulder. I feel it. “In dreams, anything can feel real. So, am I real?” he asks. “Is this a dream?” “Is it?” He walks behind me. “Are you serious! Give me a straight answer!”

In fact he doesn’t care about anything else now. “This is what you always wanted, why come back to your world,” a voice speaks in Van’s ear. Whose voice is it? But he’s right. Why he should go back to a world where he is seen as a weirdo if he could become what he dreams here. “But this is not real, just fanciful illusions,” another voice speaks in Van’s head. Yes, he might be fooling himself that this is the real him. Wake up Van and stop dreaming! “Yet reality hurts. Come and dwell in your fantasy where you are free of your earthly woes,” the first voice replied.