The scenery undergoes a dizzying change.
You’ve dived even deeper into the dream.
You’re walking on top of the clouds. Just like in a fairytale.
Shrouded in darkness, you move along a corridor of clouds stretching across the sky. It’s a soaring feeling of euphoria — like you’re climbing into the heavens themselves. Though climbing to the heavens inevitably is an image associated with death.
You seem like you’re having a great deal of fun, but with some sense of unease, you take a good look at your feet and realize that the clouds mysteriously resemble stiff black charcoal. Whether you meant to or not, it appears you’ve been pushed up to a rather high altitude.
It’s like you’re being pushed along by someone who isn’t very considerate, telling you what a blessing this is. As if they’re coercing you to smile. Something envelops you that gives you a great sense of discomfort.
There’s something looking down on you, it’s definitely something enormous. Something awful that feels as if it’s dripping with a man’s desire.
You’re like the doll inside of a toy box when a small boy is looking down at you, reaching for you, a boy who likes you and is going to play with you until you fall apart.
You merely walk on in an attempt to escape.
Your vision then becomes clear.
You freeze in place amidst the deep darkness.
There is a large monster.
A beast, terrifying even on first sight.
It is a muscular creature, its inherently violent nature highlighted by the glint in its eyes, its veins visible to the naked eye, its sharp claws and fangs — this monster gnashes its teeth with a feeling of inescapable rage and malevolence.
It’s like the embodiment of rage and frustration, like a man whose own desires cannot be satisfied, so he finds fault with everyone else. This beast, symbolizing such a person, glares at you and snarls as if he’s on the verge of swooping down at you. The sound of those carnivorous teeth sends a torturous echo through your ears.
Grind, grind, grind, grind, on and on without end.
You quickly plug your ears in disgust and take a step back.
At that moment, you realize.
You’re actually the one gnashing your teeth. This irritation, this anger, this bundling of stress — even this monster — they’re all you. The most atrocious parts of you that you couldn’t let out, the deepest-held resentments, are now making themselves heard, like a bomb on the verge of detonation.
This monster, no, all of this disturbing scenery — it’s all just your dream. You are the one who gave birth to all of these sinister things. All of these unsightly and repulsive things are crawling around inside of you; you’re just walking through all of that.
You begin to shiver, as if you’ve just now become aware of all of this. Grabbing your head in horror, you continue to gnash your teeth and lower your head, as if to say you don’t want to experience such a horrible dream anymore.
The tips of your fingers brush your cheeks, as if trying to check something.
Then, they pinch.
As if to say, “If this is a dream, please wake me up.”
......
And then, you wake up in your bed.
You throw off the comforter you had pulled up to your head and take a deep breath, as if having just resurfaced from a deep dive. Both your head and chest are drenched with sweat. You touch your cheeks and force yourself to stop gnashing your teeth like you had been doing until that point.
Your rugged breathing continues for a time.
It really was a dream — you nod over and over again, as if to say, “Of course it was.”
Then, without even sitting up, you lazily stretch out your hand, grab a diary off your desk, and pull it to you. You scrawl out letters in it with shaky hands.
It’s compulsory, as if some unseen force is making you do it.
Dreams show us our unconscious thoughts. The unconscious is hidden, locked away within the deepest parts of the heart while we are conscious. That’s why we so readily forget our dreams. Like water overflowing from our palms.
You clumsily inscribe the words, as if trying to forcibly tie those dreams down.
Locking down the red umbrella, the stoplight, and everything else in words.
Your face once again lands upon the pillow, either because you’ve run out of stamina or because you’ve simply surrendered yourself to sleep.
The diary slides out of your hand—
You drift off into another dream.