Just Dreaming Down the Rabbit Hole

I don’t dream often, and when I do I don’t usually remember the dream. Last night was different though. It was such an odd dream. It reminded me of Alice in Wonderland although it had nothing to do with white rabbits running late or Mad Hatter’s tea parties. I was climbing a staircase, going to level 12, the last level. That was odd enough for me, a complete non-gamer. There was a silver slide spiraling around the stair case. It had a castle-like appearance with stone walls and torches. I came to a wooden door with a heavy bronze handle. I opened the door and found myself in the company of a nervous young man. Level twelve had begun.

An ominous ticking began. The room was elegant, but peculiar. The furniture was out of balance. The bed was a good bit smaller than the nightstand and the sheets and comforter three sizes too big for the bed. I was so small compared to everything where i stood, but as i moved forward the proportions changed. I seemed to know what I was I was doing though. I quickly gathered the “hidden” writing materials scattered around the room and pulled the wooden drawer of the nightstand open. I grabbed the notepad inside and began writing. It was a great paragraph. I can’t recall the words, but it was fantastic. The only problem with great first paragraphs, like all great firsts, is the follow-up. It’s hard to follow a great paragraph with an equally great or better paragraph, so I stopped to contemplate my manipulation of words. I looked across at the nervous man who I then recognized as my competitor. He was stumbling over the bed sheets flowing out onto the floor still looking for his writing materials. I was in thee lead.

I braced the lead in my hand and readied myself for an amazing second paragraph.  However, upon my return to the notepad I found my words had vanished. I started writing again, restarting, this time in ink. In spite of my attempts the words i wrote disappeared almost as soon as i wrote them down. I threw the notepad aside and began writing on the walls, again to no avail. The timer rang out and i found myself on the silver slide  sliding down. My brother, Brantley, was just ahead of me, sliding down backwards, calling out to me. I grabbed his hand and pulled him upright, wrapping my arm across his chest.  I got to the bottom of the slide and as Brantley walked away I looked down the cobblestone walkway with a sudden realization. I was dead. As i walked through the shops and gained information about level twelve I began to understand. The people in this cobblestone town were trying to find residence for the afterlife. Level twelve was simply a challenge to gain access to residency in an old college. No one had passed level twelve. No one could obtain residence in an area where only the living had been, or in other words, If no one died there, no dead may live there. It explained why my words kept disappearing. Level twelve was some sort of writing challenge that I had failed.

I have yet to understand why, but that old college, level twelve, was vitally important. Someone had to die there, and soon.




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