Alex._.Yoder (Follower Fiction)

Alex._.Yoder

He'd been trying to lucid dream. He'd been trying, and he'd been failing.

I don't know, some stupid shit he'd saw online. How to Lucid Dream. It'd been two weeks now, and he still couldn't get the hang of it. Waking in the middle of the night still and stiff and without even a dream, let alone anything lucid.

Alex swung his legs over the side of his bed and racked painted chipped-black nails through green fluffed hair. His hand running the length of his forehead and then dropping to his eyes, he rubbed at them with the tips of his fingers.

He could slip back into bed. Try again. He turned his head over his shoulder to admire his sheets. Longing for just once to be far enough into a dream where he could not easily escape. To be able to control what and who came into the dream.

A breeze whistled. The wind came through sheer white curtains, and he looked to his window at the base of the slant of his ceiling—the curtains slapping over an open hole. Alex took the hand that'd been at his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck now. He felt the chill ripple on through the room and tie loose goosebumps over his skin—kisses of night.

He sighed.

When had he left that open?

He reached for his phone. 2:17 am. He frowned. He hadn't felt like he'd gotten much sleep.

The wind slapped through the open slit again, and Alex dropped his phone face down against his sheets. He stumbled forward almost drunkenly through his bedroom, bumping over a wire music stand as he went and cursed below his breath.

Chipped black fingernails met the lower window pane's lip, and Alex used his weight to shut the glass opening. The window knocked hard into the wood of the sill.

He toed the laying wire stand out of his footpath and began to stagger back as he turned. Hands mapped out Incase he fell in the darkness. He thought hard about his dreaming. How he maybe no longer believed in lucid dreaming. It was folklore, perhaps.

A shadow caught his sightline, and he panned up from his gaze on the floor. A tall figure stood against the colors of his hung Transgender flag. The blue of the flag was grey against the wall in the moonlight let in from the now-closed window, the double pink stripes looking maroon around the shoulders of the figure, the white line completely shadowed by their frame.

Alex was frozen, stuck staring at the person in his room, his feet heavily barring into the floor. Toes curling to ground himself. He checked his knees, bending them slightly to be sure not to pass out as blood rushed through his figure and ambered his cheeks.

"Holy Fuck," Alex whispered.

The shadow stepped closer, unveiling their strong features in the moonlight. Brown fallen hair was wisping out in tangles around their scruffed cheek.

Alex stepped back, "I am dreaming," he confirmed to himself, "It did work. This is a lucid dream." His voice felt unfamiliar to himself. Its structure falling weak as it absorbed into the human that was stepping further into the light, their left arm making star reflections through the room.

"Are you, Alex?" The man's voice was hollow, that of an assassin.