Page 14 of In Somnis

She was the one being rude.

So I gave up on lucid dreaming entirely, resigned myself to normal unconsciousness, or as normal as it ever gets for me, and wanted to sleep, but apparently that’s all it takes now. One stray thought about a crying blonde, and my treacherous brain decides, “Hey, why not hijack her REM cycle? Let’s take a field trip.”

Another spotlight snaps on overhead, and I glance up the same moment she does. This time, an older version of her stands in the beam, with a soft smile and tired eyes, her mother, maybe?

“Mom!” the blonde chokes out, stumbling to her feet and sprinting toward the light. Just as she reaches it—poof. Gone.

“Jesus, that’s depressing,” I mutter before my brain can slap a filter on my mouth.

Blondie whips her head toward me, her blotchy and tear-streaked blue eyes wide, and I shut my mouth fast, making some of the shadowy fog that seems to fill this space appear in front of me to hide myself.

I should leave, but the fact that I’m somehow dream sharing with a total-fucking-stranger? Yeah, that’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in months. Maybe years. Certainly more exciting than Miller leaving me increasingly deranged voicemails about my missed deadline.

The issue is, if she figures out I’m actually here, and her subconscious clocks me as an intruder, this whole thing goes nuclear, because she is definitely not lucid right now. There’s no awareness here, only raw emotion and whatever her brain decides to torment her with.

Another spotlight flickers on, this one off to the right, and an older man with a round belly appears beneath it.

“Dad!” she sobs, running toward him with everything she has left. And, again⁠—

snuffed out.

Yeah, she’s so not lucid. Nobody with functioning self-preservation would dream this shit on purpose.

Lucid dreaming is control. Usually, anyway. That’s the whole appeal. Once you know you’re dreaming, you get to grab the wheel. Change the weather, tilt gravity sideways, rewrite the rules, erase the monsters… or, if you’re me, make a few new ones to see how they move.

This, though? This is your standard nightmare.

There are categories to dreams, not official ones, just how I sort them. Normal dreams fade the second you wake up. Memory dreams loop the shit you don’t deal with. Lucid dreams, you steer. The funhouse twins—nightmares and night terrors—only pretend you’re in the driver’s seat.

And she’s definitely riding shotgun to one of them right now.

Another spotlight slices through the black, and two tall women appear in it. They’re laughing, pointing down at her while she curls in on herself, crying harder.

“Why? Why are you like this?” she sobs. “I thought we were friends!”

They keep laughing, and I bite down on the lollipop, the crack of the candy almost making me flinch. A flicker of protectiveness sparks low in my gut, and before I can even think about it, I flick my wrist. Silver duct tape snaps into existence and slaps over both their mouths so hard the sound cuts off mid-breath.

The women shimmer, their edges warping as the dream-fabric ripples outward, the spotlight dying as we plunge back into darkness.

Good riddance.

Blondie gasps as another light flares to life a few feet away. She spins toward it like she’s been yanked by a string, and my gaze follows just as quickly. It’s a younger man this time.

“What’s next?” I groan, dragging the lollipop from my mouth with a wet pop. “The full family tree? Should I grab popcorn? Maybe summon a chair?”

Yeah, let’s not do that.

I should leave or prompt myself to wake up. If I manage to hit lucidity again later, I could actually create something useful. Set the scene, write a monster, fly, fall, hell, I could just fuck a dream version of someone hot, literally anything except babysit whatever emotional dumpster fire she’s got going on here, but I don’t, because, for some reason, I want to see what happens next.

And let’s be real, I’d end up in that fucking forest again anyway.

“Cherub,” the tall guy says with a sad smile.

I scoff loudly because, of course, he calls her something stupid.

The guy’s head snaps toward me instantly.

Whoops.