On subway headed to S stop. I arrive and rush out, realize I forgot my coat, and have to rush back in, missing my stop. I plan to transfer back at the next stop. I check my phone and discover I am running late but should be fine.

On the way to F stop, the next stop, the train begins to malfunction. The line switches and I have no idea how to get home. The situation feels hopeless for inexpressable reasons.

A band, performing on stage. Successful at first, then one member begins to behave erratically, forcing the others to cover for him. After the show, they gather, scolding him. He tries to defend himself, but can't explain his own actions. A demonic, monstrous entity appears behind them and delivers a warning.

Switch to a train station. I am there with K. The demonic entity reappears—having already dreamt of it, I am not very surprised by its existence. Neither is K, though I cannot explain that. It tells me to descend to the platform as “it is beginning”. I say goodbye to K, albeit reluctantly, as I do not want to participate, and head down the stairs.

On the platform. A train pulls in. An announcement tells us to choose a car to enter within half a minute. I can’t remember if the announcement said it or the demon said it, but I become fully convinced that what this trial is testing is our patience. In other words, I have to wait until the very end of the thirty seconds, because K is definitely going to run down the stairs and tell me the correct car to enter. When five seconds are left, I get concerned and suspect that I was wrong and had been making assumptions due to my fear. However, having decided not entering is the correct path, and having already felt the relief of not having to gamble on which car to enter, I cannot make myself enter as the seconds tick down.

The train doors close, the announcement telling those inside (and me, outside) that 20% of people entered a car where they could acquire a lethal weapon. The other 80% did not. The implication is that the unlucky 80% need to run and hide or get slaughtered. Presumably, most will get killed no matter what they try and do. Two other girls also did not enter the train, and we are all rounded up. They plan to narrow down our numbers through an alternate trial.

We get taken to a store, similar to CVS or RiteAid or any other large pharmacy chain. A hockey table is in the center, with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. The first girl, S, heads for the first side, and because I am second in line I follow her. The other girl, Q, is thus forced into the singular chair on the other side. We are explained the rules. Essentially, the game is a mix between air hockey and table hockey, though the puck is a marble instead. Because S and I are a team (which I anticipated, choosing the side which was better for me but screwed over Q) she cotrols the puck which hits the marble for scoring and I get a second puck as the goalie. Q gets the attacking puck and the kind of goalie in table hockey, where it's a stick on the board's side she controls.

We start our 'practice' round to teach us how to play. S and I rather easily dominate, but I get scared and, instead of playing out the real game in the dream, I narrate our victory, in which we continue to dominate and beat Q. She claims it's completely unfair that she lost, citing how the game was 2 on 1, but she gets killed. Everyone other than S, me, and a worker at the store (who is technically involved with the trials) leave.

The worker is a gangly young guy. S and I ask if we can just take whatever we want from the store before leaving to the next trial. At this point in time, we seem to have more-or-less established ourselves as a team, the two of us. Furthermore, we appear to be aware that the trials have taken on a less structured form, after the preliminary elimination, and more of a long-term survival game one. He claims that everyone's taking supplies, which makes the games easier, which forces those behind it to amp up the difficulty, so we shouldn't take items. I argue that he's made the perfect argument as to why we should. If we don't, we'll be at a huge disadvantage. and the games are already being built with the assumption that we have (perhaps unfairly) looted supplies. He doesn't seem to fully understand but can't refute this logic, and so warily agrees.

I leave to gather supplies. Meanwhile, he slinks around the store. This is kind of like a Target, where other chains have locations attached to the main store (ex: Dunkin' Donuts having a small wing on the side). There are strange, fleshy monsters lurking around the Starbucks wing. Because this is his job, he tries to clear them out, but is pretty much outclassed. I am shoving shelves of random medicines into my bag, but am aware of this conflict occurring nearby since this is my dream. While I grab bars of chocolate, I tell S that we need to get out and leave. We escape the store into a foggy outside world, presumably leaving the worker to an unpleasant demise.

At this point, it's a week or two into swim practice and I've been slacking off. For whatever reason, I'm up at 5:00 AM anyways so I decide (with much reluctance) to finally attend practice. I pack my bag and head out.

We've moved so the closest train stop is now D on the Q line, which is murky and dark and unfamiliar. Everyone on the train is out to get you.

I transfer. People are gathered on the area above the platform, and I'm vaguely aware of exactly what the future holds. I am also suddenly, deeply, irrevocably in love with a grey haired boy my age, to the extent that I take his bag and place it next to mine on the platform under the assumption that the two of us will become close in the time before the train comes and take it together. I then return to the area above the platform (where, though this is unimportant, he also is) and play out my predicted interaction, wherein I bond with two other individuals over our shared interests and childhood.

Bored, I return to the platform, where the train is coming. I am struck with the realization that I had not talked to the boy and had simply stolen his bag, and feel deep regret. My items are also missing from my bag, and I worry someone stole them before I realize they are strewn on the ground. The train is coming, so I have to hurry, and someone helps me as I gather the items. At first I am thankful, but then I look up and realize this face is uncanny and almost monstrous. Terrified, I clutch my belongings and throw (unimportant) items at the man. He wanted something out of me. I was innocent.

On the train, I see a person robed head-to-toe in white garments threaten us on the train and throw knives at our car. I am terrified but the train is quickly leaving. However, on the wall of the train is a strange chatboard where there is only one message if you write anything here, I will kill you. Stupidly, somebody had written something what does this mean? and the car begins to shake. A disembodied voice informs us that he is figuring out teleportation. Depending on where we stand, we face a different, gnarly end.

I am hanging out at P's house, which is also somehow L's. At some point, she tells me that she and her sister are going shopping for Halloween. Surprised, I remark that I didn't realize Halloween was so soon, only to realize that day was Halloween. I am both excited and upset and essentially having missed it, and say goodbye to P to walk home, since I live only half an hour away.

It is dark and rainy. P's boyfriend lounges about on the porch, but enters when I have left. I don't like him. Sometimes he exists, sometimes he doesn't. The dream repeats multiple times, and each rendition is vaguely different. When he exists, he doesn't do much.

In the main rendition, a girl appears out of the fog. She is someone I admire but seeing her does not feel grounded. She does not exist in my reality. I follow her, despite knowing that I am leading myself to a place where I cannot return from as I am. What happens to me is nebulous. There are ghosts and I linger with them. Halloween does not end. P learns that I have vanished. In the aftermath, the boyfriend is also revealed as somehow connected to the supernatural. I do not know what I want.

I am watching some crappy show. Maybe I'm not even watching it, but it's visible on my phone. It's undoubtedly bad, but the sort of bad people like. Technically 'trashy' but so much fun.

My father sees. He mocks it. I get defensive. Why? I don't even watch it. But he thinks he's so much better. My sister is sitting off to the side, watching. I tell him that I likelike this show. He says that isn't funny. We're moving away from my sister, but she sees everything. My mother is also nearby. I call him a piece of crap. He kicks me in the stomach three times before storming off.

My sister and my mother around me. I am worried at first to be scolded, that they'll take his side or at the very least a neutral one, but they're so sympathetic. I realize my sister had misheard my "you're a piece of crap" comment as something else (something I can't remember) which was far softer. I can't bring myself to correct her, not when she's so kind right now. It would ruin everything.

They don't hate my father, but they have qualms lurking under the surface. Everything is disturbed. On the one hand, things will go back to the status quo; on the other hand, there is a sort of rebellion. I am also now aware that I am not the only one who feels this way. My mother has regrets. My sister is so kind but she, too, has been hurt. I wish I had known her better. I barely was aware she existed. She's so beautiful. Long black hair, features which are far more like my mother's, as opposed to mine, which are a near replica of my father's. I love her in a way which hurts because I barely know her.

A strange game. People are oriented by age in a line, except it isn't age, not really. For the purposes of clarity, let's say it was experience. This is the first trial. Those at the back have no change of making it past this round, and indeed are immeadiately out without even really knowing why. The next time they challenge the game, the order is, for once, switched. Those at the end get to be at the front. It's a one-time-only kind of deal. The four at the very top are vaguely trying to kick each other out (it's a game where you lose if you leave the established long rectangular boundary.) They shvoe each other half-heartedly. The protagonist, who at this point is a flashy young man, glances behind himself and sees the utter havoc those behind the top four are wreaking. Those at the back, it seemed, had been disqualified always before this point, and those at the front were priviliged enough to be exempt, but those in the middle-top are brawling in an incredibly violent manner.

The top for are the ones who pass. Somehow it becomes three without explanation. The protagonist becomes me. I am aware that this is just a movie, fictional, but this certainty is somehow weak. I am worried and afraid. I almost want to back out but I'm too nervous to ask how. We go down the elevator to the basement, like mine but more imposing and surreal. Laundry machines, big enough to fit a person, line the walls like a grid. We enter the laundry room, where supplies are strewn on the table. The game master informs us we need to collect supplies and go hide in a machine while a cyclone ravages through. If we pick incorrectly we'll die.

I, of course, question the fundamentals of this game. Why do we need supplies for survival if this is essentially a luck-based gamble? Are we meant to survive out there while a cyclone ravages through? Is this an out-lasting each other situation, or a if-you-pick-wrong-you-die type? I don't, can't, voice any of these questions. Everyone else understands. I blend in. There is a certainty in my mind that I will lose, I will die, these other two girls must defeat me. I'm scared.

There are a box of shoes to take from, with two options: high heels or ballet flats. Girl A takes one pair of ballet flats and I, seeking to gain an edge over the competition, grab the remaining flats. Girl B gets angry and tries to steal them, but she's smaller and weaker so I just hold them tight to my chest. We have fifteen minutes in total to grab supplies. There's food, water. Crab legs. Why do I need crab legs? I grab them anyways. I put on my shoes and let go of the rest, Girl B grabs them, shoots me a dirty look. I am regretful over losing the shoes but not enough to care.

Time's up. I've collected nothing. I'm going to die. My messy bundle has crab legs and a half filled bottle of water, but I'm scared to ask if I can refill it. To go refill it myself and be late. I'm going to die. We head out, my bundle spilling out despite my best attempts. The other girls know what to do. They're so ready. They're so prepared. I crawl into a washing machine and shut the door.

I'm going to die soon and I'm so scared. It's inevitable. I hug my parents. I sob. Why can't I come to terms with it?

It's October within the dream. Important: this is hard to relay to another person, but the key component of the dream is that everything is exactly as it should be. I mean physically, in the sense that the month is right, the poeple are right, the dimensions and logistics of my apartment are right, and emotionally. I am feeling concerned about college and excited for Halloween, for example. This is why I essentially get duped into viewing this as reality.

Basement. The lights are dark. The building is doing something special for Halloween, is the impression I get. Everything is intentionally scary, so it's fake, but at the same time it isn't. No, I'm not scared except in the way I'm scared after watching a movie or in an escape room. But that's also strange, because the fake exhibits here are real, kind of. I can barely move through the goo coating the floor. I can feel myself wasting away whenever it makes contact. Still I am not quite scared.

The elevator comes. When I enter a disembodied voice recites the story of a serial killer in our building. It's fake but real. I clutch my mother. Why am i scared if I know it's fake? But the knife is real and the danger of the elevator spiraling down is real.

A strange kidnapping. Two men--one fat and squat, the other tall and skinny. A strange, comedic duo. At first it's just 'me' (who's only kind of me) and sometimes this other, beautiful, otherworldly girl. She has black hair (is it long? is it short?) and seems to turn holographic in the sunlight.

We're at the beach. She spins in the sand, in front of the waves, and I take pictures of her. I'll never be as beautiful. The waves crash--I use my body the shield the phone--somehow the waves part around me. We run up, but the waves keep approaching. At the very end of the beach, the kidnappers approach and yell at us. You were trying to call the police, they accuse, as if I've done something so wrong. I say no, the waves were just coming, I was protecting the phone, but they take it and yell into the mic IT WASN'T REAL! THEY WERE PRANKING YOU.

Then it's a whole litany of girls, all somewhat similar to me (not like they're clones, but none of them are girls out of the norm) and we're all crowded into a hotel room. There's a third kidnapper, i guess. Something vaguely disgusting. I'm above it all. Elusive and transcendental. Translucent. None of this hurts me because I can freely float above it. I can flirt and manipulate and mock and laugh like I'm detached.

We've been trafficked out of the country, from my understanding. The skinny one and the third one are arguing in the bathroom. The fat one is sleeping, or in other ways preoccupied. I raise the excellent point that we are essentially totally free to leave. I block off the bathroom door with a cheap dresser (falliable! but better than nothing). We have until they finish talking. The other girls rush off with nothing. I'm materialist, so I grab my drawer, pile all my clothes into it (that brown mid length skirt with the silk lining!) but I can't find my phone. I helplessly look around, but the time limit weighs heavily on me. We're all rushing down the stairs, what a mess, and are trying to cross the hotel lobby. Only for a security guard to stop us. A whole choir of them, in fact. We aren't allowed to leave without a man accompanying us.

Ruination! So we're forced outside, try to run but they have guns and they WILL shoot us so we're forced to sit on the ground cold pavement in a line. Then the security guard for our sections spins us around (what purpose?) and dumps us, incapacitated, to be returned to the room. Maybe the kidnappers have come down by this point. I don't remember. All hope seems lost for escape. A girl is shivering, I give her my sweater and suddenly I'm so naked in just a short dress. The guard tries to spin me around but I resist. I argue my first amendment rights as an American citizen, that violating said rights comes with extreme reprecussions, the works. He has difficulty against my verbal deluge. The other girls have been taken up, potentially along with the kidnappers (if they had come down at all).

And then! There's M. What can I say? He doesn't understand the severity of this situation, this kidnapping, and I can't really bear the melodrama of explanation. It doesn't seem realistic. I seek refuge there, though, but what am I supposed to do? I'm going to be taken back up.

And then G is there. He knows, or maybe I tell him, but we've got to save the other girls. We're walking up the stairs but I'm so reluctant. I wasn't light and free and flighty. I am so so so scared and hurt and wrecked. I don't want to return. It's awful. I was destroyed.

Does he understand? He tells me we don't have to go save them together. We can go. We can leave. We DO leave, because I'm a coward, but I get to cry into his arms and everything is okay.

There is a strong compelling force. A mission. But I have to start at the beginning.

Two kids going on a trip somewhere foreign. One of the girls sleeps in (of course she would! irresponsible H) and the mother is expecting it. Disappointed almost but it's hard to be disappointed when you expected it. And then she helps H pack but! has booked her own trip in a week's time for the place, shows it off, mocks them.

Now forget that. There is a strong compelling force driving ME. I am going to a foreign place like another world for what I am sure is my trial, a trial I feelI cannot fail because if it is made for me then it must be made for me to pass...custom-fit. And I have an entourage, kind of, though they don't know, they don't understand the trial, we are all going together as friends and I feel myself separate. Was I wrong to not tell them?

And they are dying, because they do not know. And most of this has faded out but the last day. There is Satan a woman with a red body thick and terrifying stark naked animalistic in the flesh: my ally. And there are two of my allies, and a lion, and a book with sorts of allies within. I have somehow provoked a monstrous creature. It was my fault; I do not remember how. So we mount the lion and run, but the lion is not NEARLY fast enough and it is speared through the front. But still we continue because I know the way to placate the beast but I do not want to sacrifice. And then the lion is felled under enough blows and I roll off, say, the beast is pursuing ME so keep away from me and you'll live, but I am afraid of the blows which the lion succumbed to and I realize that my central role within the narrative will not save me.

So I do the thing I did not want to do--take the book and rip out pages, sacrifice M who was within the book whose story coincides with the beast, the two of them locked in a karmic struggle. M was alive almost but ancient, my friend and ally but also an entity from an entirely different era, world. And to sacrifice M is to kill M as much as he CAN be killed, to trap him within a cycle once more for the last time.

Now the three of us have come to a clearing. We have arrived in the other world though not yet our final destination. The other two are battered, will die without medical attention, except what medical attention! here? and I realize--know--that they must also die to reach the final mission. That perhaps there would have been hope with more people, more buffers, but now they MUST, WILL die because that's just how it goes. And I am sad but maybe not sad enough. And they know a bit but not fully and they still want to live.

We're crawling through a tunnel now with Satan in whom I confide in my fears of failure and she tells me the physical body which must be why I was chosen my eyes my chest my legs except there is nothing special about any of this physical and she does not understand anything except the physical. So there is nothing to be done after all. I should have known there was nothing she could offer me anyways.

It's me and another who is me but also not me. We're in an apartment. There is also the monster. Unkillable alien. The me who is fully me is out of comission, leaving the other one. The monster is toying with her. That monster is humanoid, but there is another of her ilk, a lesser version, male and deformed and misshapen. So the other one is fighting the creature but the creature is so clearly dominant. And then I realize I'm back, present, the other one is gone, and suddenly things are scary because it's all on me and she (the monster) is MOVING IN. I'm trying to use a wide swath of weapons on her but she's invulnerable. I take the coffee maker and swing it and it WORKS. She's dying, shriveling up.

Except the homunculus--the lesser one--is there, and I realize it wasn't just him, it was a whole litany of misshappen, powerful monsters. My coffee maker alone cannot fight them all. And they don't have the same sense of fun she had. Besides, they're vengeful. She was their...mother? wife? creator? friend? and I killed her.

Something about...me acquiring a soul? There was a council. Round table.

The rules are simple. The virus infects. The solution: open the door and toss out a peace of meat. Close the door. The virus is defeated. The creature is saved.

We must perform the ritual. The cat goes insane. You can tell the virus has her because her eyes are clouded over and she bites, ferocious, filled with a ravenous hunger. The others hold her back. I wrest the door open and toss out something processed. Does it count? Fortunately, it does.

The woman and her son. They've come to visit. We explain the ritual, but they brush it off. And of couse the virus infects. Of course it takes the son. And of course she loses her head, goes wild, we try and tell her but she just wants to escape, rushes out with son in tow.

The ritual no longer works, we think. It's too late. She failed her trial. There's nothing we can do, except maybe there is and we simply don't want to act. And BAM against the door, it must be her slamming against it trying to be saved.

There's nothing we can do, and besides perhaps it's not her, perhaps she's already dead and it's the monster her baby son now is. I don't want to look through, but I do a few slams later. It's skin I'm looking at, her cheek pressed tight against the peephole, and then it cracks and there's only static.

So we could open the door, try and save her, but we don't. Because we don't know how, and because we're afraid, and because we're safe in here.

Mad scientist. Kidnapped childen kept under lock and key. Sterile laboratories. Sterile equipment.

Experiment #1: The children, contorted (from the inside!) into strange shapes--stars and guitars and bulbous spheres. Insane agony. Indescripable. Unlivable. One of them touches his face and pops right apart, splatters the room. The others wail. Hard to avoid the touching of their limbs. Hard to avoid touch. The second one, too. The third one tries to explain, and he touches and pops and it's hard to say if he meant it or not.

Experiment #2: The same aim, except this time the agonized children mean to do it, intentionally pop themselves open, and I want them to stop but what else could they do? It wasn't going to end, in fact would get worse as their bodies continuously change and stretch skin stretching taut. But to die means an end to everything. But to live would mean suffering and no return to their prior human state. What use is a half-life like that? But to die is worse! You lose everything! They're nothing more than faces (barely, even) and still their death is so poignant!

Experiment #3: Only spheres. They hate they hate they hate. They feel so free, bouncing around, losing their human form, and yet so limited. Only one thought that's crowding everything else out I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad on loop repeat I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad I'm mad

Cosmic conflict. The divine. I'm part of it, too. There's a council. Shadowy bird mask in the center wants to arrest me (flagrant injustice). I protest. I was only fighting back against the true evil.

The word light.

I speak up. I make a friend. Jewelery.

The word light in ANY form.