Dream For Us | Hyung Line

Dreamscape

Life can sometimes be cryptically funny, ironic, or just plain cruel depending on how you look at it. You call your dad back as you are rushing out the door, glad to see your car sitting in your driveway. Last night is still a blur but you'll have to focus on it later. Right now, you're listening to your dad explain how your mom took a spill off the back porch and is having exploratory surgery to try and find an internal bleed in her abdomen.

You're sitting at a stop sign, waiting for traffic to clear so you can turn onto the main road leading into town, still listening to your dad when it happens— that cryptically funny, ironic, or just plain cruel moment in life. The driver of the gravel truck coming from the quarry down the road was too busy trying to rub grit from his eyes, completely oblivious to the tiny car stopped at the stop sign, until the jarring impact and screech of metal on metal filled the air.

They say most accidents happen within ten minutes of home. You guess they're right. Is that also another ironic point, or just being part of a statistic? It's all fuzzy. Much like a dream, you catch flashes and fragmented images. Paramedics, flashing lights, and white walls. Then nothing.

It's in this nothingness that you become aware of something. A small flicker of cognizance that builds to a lucid wakefulness. Their presence is the first thing you're intimately aware of. It's familiar, comforting in a way but confusing because you're unable to discern why. That is, until things become clearer.

"Hi, beautiful."

"What happened? Where am I?" You struggle to sit up, your equilibrium severely compromised, making you pitch wildly to the left. "Holy fuck, my head," you gasp, clutching at your temple with the hand you're not using to try and stabilize yourself.

Several pairs of hands land on you, keeping you from taking a spill off the stone slab you're sitting on. "Easy, take it slow."

Awareness pricks through the mental discourse. Your vision ebbs, fuzzing around the edges when you try to look around too quickly. The stone beneath you is bleached white with craggy pocks of moss green. You're relieved to see you're still wearing the jeans and t-shirt you put on when you left— "My mom!" You swat at the hands on you, frantically trying to scramble down from your perch.

"Hey, hey, your mom is fine. She always was, there was no accident." Blinking rapidly, you finally latch onto a familiar face. Namjoon.

"Am I still dreaming?" you ask in a whisper, to no one in particular, as you absently reach up and prod a finger into his cheek. He feels real enough. Then again, your wild sex dream felt impossibly real, too.

He gives a small shake of his head. "This isn't a dream, not really. You are in The Dream Kingdom."

"You're insane," you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Namjoon steadies you as you finally manage to slide off the stone slab. Your knees nearly buckle, but his hands on your arms keep you upright. "I need to get to the hospital. My dad told me there was an accident. My mom needs me."

"Your mom didn't have an accident. She's fine. That wasn't your dad that you spoke to," Yoongi steps into your line of sight. "If you'll give us a moment, we can explain. Trust us, please."

"Trust you!? I don't even know who you are!" It comes out more as a shriek than you intended. "Oh God, I've been kidnapped."

"You do know us," Seokjin insists, stepping up beside Namjoon. Hoseok follows, filling in the space beside Yoongi. Four men from your dream, claiming they're real. "And we didn't kidnap you."

You're shaking your head, opening your mouth to protest when a gust of piny air whips around you.

"Why is she here?" a man hisses, glaring at you through narrowed eyes. He immediately has you cowering behind the four men in front of you. "It's not time for The Rite yet. Which one of you fucked this up?"