"The World of Dreams" by Will "Syn Zero" Chang

Fatigued and well over my energy limit for the evening, I rested my head softly on the pillow, staring idly at the ceiling high above me. My eyelids seemed to take on a life of their own as a wave of exhaustion passed over my weary body, forcing themselves downwards so that my pupils could spy only upon the blackness of nothing.
My mother had left only minutes before, neither kissing me good-bye, nor informing me of her departure. I was left alone in the large house, blanketed in the darkness of the night outside my window. She had seemed upset with me, although I could not recall exactly why that was. She was a complicated woman, one of which I felt hatred for as a person, yet affection for as her offspring.
I never felt as if my dreams were of much importance. Since I began dreaming long before my mind could tell me, I had always ignored them - if I was even able to recall them. In times of extreme loneliness or during my free time during classes, I had even begun to write down what I had recalled from my journeys to the other world, the strange yet fascinating dream world. Most of my dreams I considered as venerable forms my deranged mind had conjured during my long deserved periods of rest, others were sometimes replays from past events as well as events that had not yet come to pass.
My lover had always said that dreams were images from God. Humph! God, indeed. If God had sent me images, why had my dreams been of torture, rape, and even of Hell itself? Was I so early sentenced, at the young life of only seventeen, to an afterlife of agony and grief? That could not possible be my predetermined fate, for if so, then I defy the stars as well as God Himself! I will not simply stand hollow and let my life be controlled for me, only to be driven deep into the pits of a fiery hell.

In an instant, my vision returned to me, as well as my sense of perception. My body felt so light that, for a moment, I had come to think that I was a feather, wafting in the breeze during a windy autumn day. My vision had seemed strangely altered as well, for the ceiling and room had disappeared, leaving me stranded in a sea of white. The bed I had been resting on had also vanished as I found myself somehow at a standing position.
Where was I? I had not the faintest clue. Pure whiteness surrounded me, as far as my deep brown eyes could see. There was an uneasy silence, with the exception of my own breathing, which had become much tenser once I realized that I was alone once more.
Calling out the name of my lover, my goddess, I began a slow jog through the strange space to find my way out of the snow colored prison. Louder I became, and more quickly my pace had increased, but to no avail. I received no answer, nor any new findings as to where I was or how I could leave this place. I was simply trapped.
The blinding white of my confinement seemed to touch the very depths of my soul as I looked upwards, seeing no trace of a blue, nor black, sky above my head. I always did hate to be alone. It was one of my greatest fears; worse than death itself, in my humble opinion. Being alone was the equivalent to being nothing. If you are treated as nothing, then you are nothing.

As I closed my eyes once again, I felt as if time had suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. A cool gust brushed past me, coming from my right, but I simply ignored it, thinking it was only the open window next to my bed. It blew harder as my thoughts seemed to pour from my mind out into the world, to be heard by all entities with patient ears to listen.
Forcing my eyes open, I turned towards the source of the cold wind, seeing a desolate scene where I had expected my window to be. Before me was a harsh wasteland, void of all life in its barren soil as the grey dust clouds overhead crackled and sparked with the hint of lightning. A solitary tree stood before me, bent in a painful stance, its bare branches housing nothing but death. On the ground before me also lay three naked bodies which had been horribly mutilated. There was no blood, but the three once living bodies appeared to have been tortured in a different way.
The first body lay on its back, staring upwards at the grey skies through empty sockets where its eyes had once been. The perfectly circular openings where its eyeballs had been removed showed no signs of the oculars being gouged or ripped out. The body had also been pillaged of both the hands and feet, where ragged stumps now were. Painted onto the chest was a strange symbol that I could not decipher, though I felt as if I had seen it somewhere before. It resembled a saber wrapped in the coils of a deadly cobra.
The second body I found quite grotesque, and my stomach tensed tightly within the innards of my body. The limbs of the body were all intact, but through the oculars there were two large stakes made from marble. There were various other pieces of mechanical devices gouging the body from all sides, though I did not give it a second glance; I simply turned my gaze towards the last body.
I felt on the verge of fainting as I looked to the third body. Such visions of torture and sheer horror were previously unknown to me, and I was not taking this newfound feeling well. The third body by far however was the worst of the tree. Lying on the ground, the wrists of the body were stretched out, away from the lifeless figure, with icy, lifeless fingers reaching for something that was not there. It appeared to be a crucifixion, much like Jesus on the cross, the symbol of many religions. Much like the descriptions of Jesus' crucifixion, there were punctures on the wrists as well as the feet. The most gruesome fact, however, was that the chest had been cleanly cut open, revealing rotting intestines and other such organs.
I turned away from the entire scene, my eyes clenched tightly as I drew my hand over my eyelids to further shield them from the horrible display of agony and death. I felt as though I was about to cry, wishing my goddess was there alongside me to help me escape this place, to bring me home, away from this horrid place. Falling to my knees, I cried out her name once more.

Before me, the scene changed to that of a sandy beach, one that I remembered so dearly from my childhood summers in my native state on the Pacific coastline. It was night now, and the stars littered the sky with light as they looked down upon the earth. The moon, a perfect crescent, glared down at me from high above.
Standing before me was another figure, but one I recognized as someone very dear to me. It was the figure of my lover, her light auburn hair swimming along the chilly breeze of the beach, beckoning me to approach. I called out her name, my tone giving away my feeling of happiness as well as relief as I broke into a run towards her.
She smiled at me passionately as her matching brown eyes seemed to penetrate the very depths of my soul as I stopped short, only inches away from her. I could feel her soft, warm breath on my face as we embraced and shared a tender kiss under the starlit skies. I closed my eyes, finally glad to be with her once again.

Once again my eyes opened, but I found myself not in the arms of the girl who brought me so much joy and happiness. Instead, I found myself staring up at a familiar ceiling: the cracked white ceiling of my own room. I was on my bed, my hear resting softly on the plush pillow as I tried to recall what had happened to me. Darkness overcame as I realized I had fallen victim to the sneaking sensation of sleep.
Had I been dreaming? Were the visions that so haunted - yet, in a way, touched - me been figments of my imagination, that I should only ignore them and continue on in life without giving them a second thought? I continuously asked myself these questions and more as I continued to stare up at the ceiling so high above my head.

Late the next evening I paid a visit to my goddess, who welcomed me lovingly. I told her of my strange dreams, as well as the other dreams I had been recording as of late. As she planted a kiss on my cheek, she simply said to me, "Dreams are visions of God, my love. God shows you what lies deep within yourself, as well as visions of things you wish to see. If we are together in your dreams, then that is what you wish to be. The horror and agony of those three tortured souls were but a fear of what you wish not to see in life. The loneliness you felt in the white void was your greatest fear."
I remained silent at this, only staring back at her with the slightest hint of question. She smiled at me again, simply taking my hand in hers as she told me, "Worry not. I will make sure you never have dreams of loneliness anymore."

Fin

Author's Comments -
Looking back on some of my old stories, this was actually one of the best stories I think I wrote in 2001. At the time I was fairly inexperienced in writing using a first-person perspective, but I managed to pull it off well enough, though before I edited the story (in 2004), I noticed that there were a lot of times when I switched back and forth between past and present tense. I'm glad I still have this, as I think it will be one of the stories that I'll always love and cherish.