Worlds of a Dreamer
rating: +17+x

Approximate length: 900 words.

The dreamer found himself in a field of grass.

With a thought, the grass turned purple, into a cloud, into a field of flowers of every color. He liked the flowers, and decided to keep them.

He realized he could fly high into the sky, and soar far across the field. As he flew, he felt the wind in his hair, and looked upon the world of his design. He was content.

However, none of the flowers he created could experience this world the way he did. They could not speak to him or see the wonders the dreamer would create. They just stood still.

In the waking world, he had friends and family. The world of the dreamer's creation felt barren, empty, and grey.

He landed himself in the center of the field, and began to think of a familiar face. He could not remember where he knew that face, but he knew he loved her.

With that thought, she appeared next to him. She looked at him and smiled.

He decided to call her Pandora. Together, they explored the world of the dreamer's creation.

He was happy until he awoke.

The next night, the dreamer found himself on a beaten path.

Pandora was there beside him, holding a map that shifted with every second. She looked at the dreamer and pointed down the path.

She was smiling. He took her hand and they went down the path together. The surroundings changed with every step. Buildings of every shape and color sprouted around them.

He knew he was in control of this world, but he decided to relinquish that control to whatever his soul would conjure.

Along the path, they found castles made of candy, villages grown of vines, towns at the tops of trees. Faceless people bustling about in their everyday life.

Pandora tried to get the dreamer to eat something from a market stall. The dreamer had no money to pay, but a sandwich with every flavor appeared in his hand anyways.

He enjoyed the meal he got to share with her. She seemed happy. He wished the moment would last forever.

This world was good, and he spent it with Pandora while he could.

The dreamer and Pandora were in a long hallway.

The walls were adorned with curios, trinkets, and flags of nations that never were. A museum of what the waking world would never get the chance to see.

The dreamer examined every item, taking his time with each one. Excitedly, he tried to explain the artifacts to Pandora. He imagined histories and cultures that became real with every word.

Pandora just smiled and nodded along. She never looked at any item in detail, only focusing on the dreamer. It was as if the museum was completely empty for her.

The dreamer continued talking about each item, never noticing Pandora's lack of interest. He could only focus on her smile, how she seemed to listen to every word.

As they continued through the museum, the setting shifted to a different gallery. This gallery had no adornments on the walls, no curios with which to interest the dreamer. However, a pedestal started growing out of the ground as if it were a flower. The dreamer, not interested in an empty pedestal, turned to leave.

Before he could leave, Pandora sat on the pedestal. She giggled and asked the dreamer to describe her, to give her a history and bring it to life.

The dreamer refused, hoping to tell her about important relics in other galleries. He wanted to make her happy with them. Sighing, Pandora followed along.

She didn't say a word for the rest of their tour.

Something was wrong this time.

As soon as the dreamer opened his eyes, he was knocked on his back. Every time he tried to get up, a gust of wind blew him in a different direction. He grit his teeth and forced himself to stand.

It was storming. A tornado of every fear and anxiety he can't cope with in the waking world.

Pandora was holding on to his hand. She was as terrified as he was.

He regretted losing control of this world.

He regretted forcing this hurricane of negativity on Pandora.

He regretted that he couldn't bring himself to stop it.

She was gone the next time he looked.

He had to weather the remainder of the storm on his own.

This world was a barren wasteland.

Nothing was here except burnt earth. No one was here except the dreamer.

The dreamer began walking. He imagined a path in front of him, but each building along the path collapsed into a pile of splinters and stone. The inhabitants disappeared, disappointed in the world around them.

He tried to grow flowers in the burnt earth, but these flowers were made of charcoal. They burned quickly into ash.

He tried to imagine the relics and curious this world would produce, but this world had no history. All the items he conjured shifted into a dull grey slab.

He even tried to bring a storm, but only a light drizzle appeared. The raindrops had the salty taste of tears.

He began to think of Pandora, but realized he couldn't even picture her face. He could only remember her presence.

The world stood still, but the dreamer knew this world wouldn't last forever. The dreamer left the path, and began walking into the barren wasteland.

The world felt emptier than anything the waking world could bring him. And yet, there was only so much time he had here.

He explored for as long as the world would last.

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