dead dream

Chapter 1: The Party Begins

I woke up with a jolt, my breath catching in my throat. Something felt… off. My eyes scanned the room, landing on a chipped dresser, faded beige walls, and the old, worn carpet. This wasn’t my bed. My heart skipped as I recognised it—this was the brick house I’d grown up in, years ago. A place that shouldn’t have been real anymore.

The day ahead was meant to be a celebration. My friends were coming over to mark my new job. The excitement should’ve been there, but unease clung to me like a shadow. Wandering barefoot through the house, I noticed the tiny details that had been lost to memory: the way the sun hit the lounge room blinds in the late afternoon, the faint scuff marks near the hallway door.

Yet, things weren’t right. Whenever I thought about something—like where I’d left the mop—it would appear almost instantly. A mop leaning against the laundry door. A drink coaster on the kitchen counter. Items I’d barely considered seemed to materialise as if conjured by my thoughts.

When the first knock at the door came, I pushed my worry aside. I opened it to find Shell grinning at me, dressed in her usual casual style: denim shorts, a loose T-shirt, and her hair tied back in an effortless ponytail. Behind her, the others arrived in pairs, arms full of snacks and drinks, already cracking jokes and turning up the music.

The house felt full, alive. For a while, I let myself believe that this strange unease was all in my head.


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Chapter 2: The Yoyo Test

Later, as the party settled into its rhythm, I pulled Shell aside. She leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a can of Coke and raising a brow at me. “What’s up? You’re acting all… twitchy,” she said.

“Shell, something’s not right,” I whispered. “I think things are happening because I think about them. Like… appearing. I know it sounds crazy, but—watch.”

Her sceptical look softened into curiosity. “Go on, then.”

I took a steadying breath and said, “I wish I had a yoyo.”

A beat passed. Then, one of the guys wandered in from the backyard, holding something in his hand. “Hey, found this under the table outside,” he said, tossing me a shiny red yoyo.

Shell’s mouth fell open. “No way. You set that up.”

“I didn’t,” I said, my voice low but firm. “It’s been happening all day. Things I think about—things I want—just… appear. I told you, something’s wrong.”

She looked down at the yoyo, then back at me. “Alright,” she said cautiously. “Let’s test this.”


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Chapter 3: Unmasking the Illusion

We spent the next hour testing the limits of whatever was happening. I summoned objects out of thin air: an old cricket ball, a blue scarf, even a glass of water that seemed to condense from the air itself. When that wasn’t enough, I turned my thoughts outward, reshaping the house—walls shifted, furniture disappeared, and I lifted myself off the ground to hover just above the floor.

At first, it felt thrilling. The partygoers clapped and cheered, as if I were some magician pulling off impossible tricks. But then, I began to notice… their faces.

Shell’s face was the first. Her nose seemed slightly smaller, her eyes just a shade darker than I remembered. And then the others—their smiles stretched too wide, their movements slightly off. Like someone had sculpted them from memory but missed the finer details.

I stepped back, my stomach twisting. “You’re not real,” I murmured, looking at Shell.

“What?” she asked, her voice a perfect imitation of confusion.

“You’re not… you. None of you are.” My heart raced as I stumbled back. Their faces froze, the life draining from their eyes. The crowd stood like statues, then began to dissolve—fading into the walls, melting into the carpet.

I was alone.


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Chapter 4: The Man in White

The house was empty now. The laughter, the music, the clinking of drinks—all gone. I wandered through the quiet, hollow space, calling for anyone. My voice echoed, unanswered.

The world outside the windows shifted, pixelating and distorting. The grass turned into solid blocks of green, the sky a uniform slab of grey-blue. It was like walking through a corrupted video game, the edges of the world jagged and incomplete.

I screamed into the void, my frustration spilling over. “What is this? Where am I?”

And then he appeared.

A man in a white suit stepped forward, his figure sharp and clean against the pixelated background. His face was smooth, symmetrical, but utterly forgettable.

“You’re in your personal heaven,” he said, his voice calm, almost clinical.

“Heaven?” I repeated, my voice raw. “Where’s Shell? Where are my friends?”

“They were never here,” he said simply. “You’ve died. This is your paradise. Anything you want, you can create. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” I said, my fists clenching. “What’s the point if it’s just me? How can I be happy if I’m alone?”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said with a faint smile, as if that were the end of the conversation.


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Chapter 5: The Glitch

The days—or weeks—blurred together. I tested the boundaries of this so-called paradise, building impossible landscapes, summoning grand cities, even pulling myself into the sky to hover above it all. But no matter how much I created, it all felt hollow.

Eventually, I turned to destruction. I built and detonated enormous bombs, watching as mountains crumbled and seas boiled away. It didn’t matter—everything reassembled itself, as if nothing had ever happened.

But then, as I walked through a shattered landscape, I noticed a flicker in the ground. A glitch.

It was faint at first—a single square that seemed out of place, its edges flickering like static. I stared at it, realisation dawning. This wasn’t part of the world. It was a weakness, a flaw.

Without hesitation, I launched myself toward it, flying faster than I ever had. The glitch expanded, the world tearing apart as I crashed into it. My body felt like it was being pulled in every direction, and I screamed as the light consumed me.


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Then I woke up.
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