The rays of light traveled around the large hall, illuminating the anxiety that was worn on their faces, you could tell by their expensive dresses that they weren't part of society's overpopulated middle class, they were wealthy, and they weren't afraid to show it.
Attending an event like this wasn't really my style, but how could I not, apart from the fact that this was the biggest award ceremony for writers and poets all over the globe, I was nominated for the best short horror story category, along with various idols of mine like R.L Stine, Ben Patterson and Stephen King.
Some months ago I was working at a law firm, hoping that my annoying boss would just drop dead, well guess what, he never did. So I had to quit for my sanity and peace of mind, and focused on my writing full time.
Just when I was about to give up, when it seemed like all hope was lost and I had made a terrible decision by quitting my job, an online publishing company reached out to me, telling me that they loved my write ups and would like to work with me. I found it hard to believe at first, I thought it was one of my crazy friends playing tricks on me, but I was wrong, I was soo wrong.
My girlfriend had left me a while back due to my financial standing at the time, that broke my heart into various pieces. I was sad that she left, but I was devastated that I couldn't blame her, I mean even I wouldn't date me, but that didn't stop it from hurting like hell. I poured all that anxiety and sadness into my writing, and my newly found audience loved it.
To be honest, I didn't need a writing contract, what I needed was a therapist, because I was shattered inside, but I remembered what Mr Tyler told me in elementary school, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonades". Even though he fell into depression and committed suicide a few years afterwords, I still took his advice and made the best of my situation.
The fact that a lot of people loved my work enough for me to be nominated for such a prestigious award, just showed how broken our society was, it was almost as if they could relate to my pain, and just like me, they all hid it behind sarcasm and optimism, just like me, they all smiled most of the time, just like me, they needed help but did not get it.
We now lived in a society where one was considered weak for sharing his feelings, labeled as having a mental disorder for showing even the slightest emotions. Success was now measured with money and not value, and attention was bought with views and clicks, and not knowledge.
In the end, all that sadness and pain, anxiety and depression, created the platform for which I found my audience, the same people that voted for me to be where I am today. I guess the most broken people tend to make good poets, because for me writing was like therapy, and unlike humans, a pen would never judge.
I closed my eyes as they were about to announce the winner of my category, and like always, that feeling of low self esteem slowly crept in like an uninvited guest. I started thinking to myself, maybe I wasn't good enough, maybe I wasn't going to win, but then again, I was wrong, I was soo wrong.
A few seconds later I found myself walking to the stage to pick up the award I had just won, the crowd went wild, it was unbelievable, I never imagined that this was possible, but here I was, trying to catch my breath as I ran to the stage, the crowd cheering me on like we won the award together, well I guess we kinda did, because of all their votes I was able to emerge the winner.
It took a while for my eyes to get used to the lights on the stage, but eventually they did, at this point I was smiling uncontrollably, my heart was racing, the crowd gradually went silent, and it was time for me to give my speech.
I hadn't prepared a note because I didn't think I'd win, so I had to think of something smart to say, and fast. I opened my mouth and began to speak, but to my greatest surprise, nothing came out. Immediately my eyes raced to the microphone I was handed, the lights were on indicating that it was working just fine, then I tried again, still nothing.
It took a few seconds to realize that I had actually been talking, but my voice was gone. Immediately I raised my head and looked at the crowd, and everyone was staring at me in a weird way, with a grim smile on their faces. The hall was dead silent, sweat started to build behind my neck and on my forehead, fear had gripped me from within, and I was frozen in shock. Nothing made sense to me at this point.
I staggered back when they all rushed towards me with rage in their eyes, I lost my balance and fell, and here's where it gets really weird, I didn't hit the ground afterwards. It was almost as if a black hole had emerged behind me and I fell into it. I just kept falling, deeper and deeper into the heavy darkness, the lights from the stage above dimmed as each second passed by. I could feel my eyes slowly closing, it was almost as if I was falling sleep, which didn't make any sense, because my heart was still racing as I kept falling.
The darkness felt heavier as I fell, fear had gripped me from within paralyzing every cell in my body, my heart racing so fast I was scared it was going to burst out of my chest at any moment, my muscles tightened as I gasped for air. For one whom had just won an award for writing horror fiction, nothing could have prepared me for this experience. The air grew warmer and thinner, my eyelids continued closing slowly as fell, deeper into uncertainty, farther away from the dream life I had built for myself.
A loud "THUD" hit my ear drums which made me open my eyes almost immediately, and there he was standing in front my desk, my annoying boss that refused to drop dead. He tossed some documents on my table and stared angrily at me for some seconds, then he turned and walked away.
At this point I was completely clueless, I quickly looked around and noticed that I was at my office, on my desk. The same office I hated more than anything, the same desk I would give anything to never see again. I rushed for my phone and swiped it open, frantically searching through, there was no writing contract, no instagram profile with over twelve million followers, no photograph with Mark Manson, I was confused beyond comprehension. I rushed to my notepad app, that's when I saw the write up that won the award, titled "The Beauty of Death", it was unfinished and saved as a draft.
That's when it dawned on me, I had procrastinated and never finished the write up, never posted it online, never resigned from my job to get the contract, never became famous enough to win an award.
Turns out I was dreaming all along, and didn't even know it.
