Where do I go?

There’s a new street that goes on as far as the eye can see, but the eye cannot see far but for the fog that chokes the faint light from the street lamps. You can’t see that the street goes on for miles but you trust that it does. Why wouldn’t it? You’ve been told it does. Seeing is believing but you can still believe what you cannot see, and you cannot see the street through the fog.

But nonetheless there is a street. It’s quiet, dark, and cold. If I look left, I can see my house. Well, I think it is my house. It sure looks like my house. But the house to my right looks like my house, too. In fact every house looks exactly like my house. Yet, when I walk inside every house that looks like my house it is most decidedly not my house. So now I find myself looking down the street I cannot see at house after house that looks like my house that is not my house.

But I am told that one of them is my house. I just have to keep looking down the street I cannot see.

Dream: Hellscape at Home

Filtered tornado over the horizon behind a house

Prelude — Occasionally, I’ll have a wild dream that rocks me to my core, enough for me not to want to sleep again for the next several days. This is my first real effort to start documenting these nightmares. I do not yet know what I hope to accomplish by publicly sharing these aside from telling the tales of the abstract that are vivid, sleep-depriving dreams. I hope you enjoy.

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The Storm

It’s a relatively quiet afternoon, all things considered. I’m standing outside my home — normally in a dense, urban neighborhood — out in an open field of tall grass and sparse oak trees. It’s nearing dusk, and a dangerous storm is on the horizon. Despite this, there’s a relentless calmness in the air. The wind of the approaching storm is steady, quite contrary to the sight of the pitch-black clouds blocking most of the setting sun, sans a few beams of light. The sound was a constant, high-pitched whine and static, almost as if the sky was bellowing a war cry.

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