So someone on Reddit had posted this line as a “writing assignment” of sorts. I found I almost immediately was captivated into a story within my own mind.. Journey along as Reddit decides if this story gets longer than its chapter 1 introduction…
This is the line:
“A character in your dream insists that they’re the real you and want their body back.”
The first of my last.
Let me begin by stating that, for my age, I’ve never been a believer of things “paranormal.” However given the events going on recently, I’m unsure if I can honestly say that I’m still of a mind to make such decisions.
I’ve been having the oddest dream. At first, I was going to dismiss it as being just a memory of something vague passing it’s way through my subconscious, to be written over by some new, more meaningful event. But then it wouldn’t stop. I’ve decided to start keeping a journal, and perhaps document it in the style of a book. Who knows, with the way that things go viral these days, I may just intrigue some curious occult reader.
June 9th, 2014
I had that dream again. I remember it vaguely, probably because I opted to shower before writing down what memories I had. But today I go back to work after my accident, and being late was not an option!
The way it starts is always the same, so I’ll outline this and we’ll see if I can catch up again, though hopefully not too soon.
I find myself walking down an aisle in my local grocery store. I’m shopping for what seems like only a few seconds when I see him. We don’t look alike, and quite frankly at first glance he makes no impressions on my memory, though he seems to know exactly who I am. In the dream, I feel ashamed. Though I had begun to think it was for having forgotten his name, I soon realize that the feeling emanates far deeper as he quickly makes his way down the long fluorescent lit aisle in my direction, almost in a full sprint. I honestly thought that he was going to hit me, but what he does do is far worse.
The dialogue is only starting to become clear, but from what I recall, he looks at me, furious and says:
“David, you’ve had your fun!
I want to go home.”
My name is Sergio, and I haven’t a clue who he is. Though since that rock-climbing accident a few weeks ago, I don’t really remember much about my past. Come to think of it, before the doctor read my name from my chart, I had thought myself to be a “David” but the photo on my ID matches, so clearly it’s to do with the subconscious. This comforts me and leads me to believe that maybe he’s just a coworker?
It’s late in the morning now, I should head to work.
June 17th, 2014
It’s the most vivid dream I’ve ever had with the man. This time, unlike any of the other dreams I recall, we were in front of a school. Almost as soon as I was there, I felt compelled to walk into the building, and straight into the classroom at the end of the right hand hallway. The school is a single-level building, I remember it well, as I spent my entire childhood behind these walls. I can recall a time where I felt prisoner to them, though for years I’ve only dreamed of somehow, even if just for once, finding my way back. Back to where everything seemed so simple. Yet here I am, alone and in a place I’d always wanted to return, and I was not at all enjoying myself. I walked at a brisk pace, mostly due to the unlit corridor making me feel uneasy, what with it being so dark out. A faint glow emanates from what I recall to be my grade 6 classroom. Mrs. Barcellieu taught our grade 6 class. She was a nice lady, often bringing us healthy snacks like fruits and various cracker treats.
Though I can remember where I sat in this class, I hesitate to move.
I remain fixed at the door. There in the room, sat the man. But his presence wasn’t so much what brought me to a halt. I was puzzled, as the seat I recalled to be mine had a name on the front of it, which all of the desks did. However, my desk simply says “DAVID” with all sorts of drawings of cars and baseballs and all of my other childhood hobbies. Behind the desk with my name, Sergio, sat the man.
“Have a seat Dave.” he said.
I immediately take the seat I assume he had placed for me.
“What is this?” I ask puzzled, still fixed at his ever angering gaze.
“This is me, pleading to you again to just please let me go back Dave!” He snapped.
“I don’t understand. My name is Sergio and I’m not really sure why you keep calling me David” I returned.
“I don’t fucking believe this. You’re a ghost suffering amnesia in MY body?” He immediately replied. It was evident at this point, that I had really angered him. He stood up and briskly shuffled to the corner of the front desk. Mrs. Barcellieu always kept two things on her desk, a picture of her husband, as well as a mirror. When we were younger some often rumored she had once been a model and was fixed on her ever-aging appearance. Though most of the grade 8 students would get upset and try and explain that she simply wanted the most up to date photo of them as a happy couple, and due to his early passing, was left to do so in this way. That thought would always make me regret laughing at her agging.
Grabbing the mirror, he turned back to me, walking at a quick pace to show me my own reflection.
“Take a look and see what you’ve done” He said as he held it up.
What I saw, I couldn’t believe.
I woke, sweating profusely and only seconds before my alarm went off for me to wake up and go to work. Though seeing myself, my 12 year old face, I remembered everything, even him.