[Edited for grammar 02/27/2017 - RH]
Dreams. They are a source of fun, fantasy, and horror. Drifting off to sleep, the dreamer can never be fully aware of where their dreams will go. Henry once dreamed of being a basketball star, leading his team to the Championship Finals, making a key steal, driving down the court, side stepping a defender or two, then dishing it off to a teammate for a 3-point, game-winning shot. Henry's dreams were very deliberate and usually centered on wish-fulfillment. In reality, Henry was only five foot, three inches tall, overweight, and had significant health issues that prevented him from exerting himself beyond ten minutes. Sally's dreams were more varied, reaching new territories and far-off lands populated with horses, unicorns, elves, and the occasional grocery store that would double as a labyrinth when she was being chased. Sally was a very introverted thirteen year old girl with few friends, but enjoyed movies and TV shows that stretched the bounds of imagination. She was an adventurer at heart and clung to her dreams tightly, never sharing them with anyone, as if telling anyone of them would diminish their magic and rob her of all energy they gave her. Horacio, however, was a different kind of dreamer with a different range of experiences. He was known as Horace to his friends as only his parents ever called him by his full name. When he dreamed, he would be transported to unknown buildings and rooms where the faces of people there were always blurred even though his surroundings were crystal clear. He would engage with the other characters in these dreams, some of whom would feel familiar yet their response and stature always would be a bit off. These were people in only the most basic sense of the word. Yet, he would feel comfortable for a while, until something or someone else would trigger a series of events, whether heroic or horrific, and the sense of pursuit would always be included. Sometimes he would be the hunter, but he was usually the one being the hunted. Last night, he dreamt that he was in a grocery store walking down the many aisles, shopping, with figures that appeared to be his old high school friends. When he turned a corner, however, he felt something was starting to chase him. He shouted a warning out to his friends, but they disappeared into the shelves themselves and he was left alone. running along the tall shelves of canned goods. The grocery aisles stretched with unreal elasticity, defeating his hopes of ever reach the end to turn the corner to safety. Looking back, the entity had no form, just a dark foreboding that continued to chase him. Somehow, he reached the end of the stretched aisle and as he turned the corner, he found himself in the middle of a farm. Fields of wheat to his right, traditional red barn to his left, and no sign of the grocery store or the grocery aisle anywhere he looked. Yet the dark essence continued to pursue him and he ran. His initial thought was to enter the barn for protection, but he ran into the wheat field instead, suddenly thinking he could out run whatever it was that was hunting him, that maybe he could get lost among the tall wheat and confuse the entity. Horace could feel his heart pumping, pumping so strongly that it felt like the beating muscle would burst through his chest, apparently making so much noise that the pursuer would find him that much sooner. Thinking this only made his heart beat even faster, forcing him to run at speeds he never knew he was capable of. In the fields, he could feel the crunch of the clumps of dried soil and he could smell the scent of dry wheat along with the slightly acidic punch of the nitrogen that fed the crops. He couldn't stop running, but his senses were all on fire, his heavy gasps for air, the burning of his thighs from running, the sounds of the fields, each crunching step on the soil, and the sound of his beating heart and heavy breathing. Running was all he knew and he feared more than anything what would happen if he should ever stop. Whatever would happen, he just knew it would have been a terrible fate, one that promised to be painful. He ran until he had no where else to run. The field ended and before him was a cliff with nowhere else to go but down. Looking down, breathing heavily still, he thought for just a moment that he could fly, and then he took a leap. He felt himself fall, with no end in sight, his stomach reaching up through his throat, preventing him from screaming as he fell. There was no relief to be found. His powers of flight failed him. Fear combined with the shock of sudden disappointment filled him with regret for not choosing a wiser path. He continued to fall. And then he landed on something soft. Horace woke up, sweating. He felt himself land on his back, the springs of his bed absorbed the impact and cushioned his fall. He caught his breath and looked around and found himself back in his room. He could see sunlight peaking through the edges of his window curtains, promising a beautiful day. He had been dreaming. Again. And he survived to dream another day. And then he wondered if his friends made it as well.
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