Zukin's Dream Journal! <3

My friend and I were hanging out. We had just woken up from a long night of partying.

"Where were you last night?" She asks groggily.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You left for like, several hours, we couldn't find you."

I didn't remember leaving them, but I also didn't remember...a giant chunk of time from last night. I started thinking about the possible reasons as to why I wouldn't remember last night. I've never been one to drink to the point of blacking out. I know self control, and never go that far.

"You were with some guy, who worked in the theater," she adds quietly, "he was wearing a red mask, and was really weird."

I remembered.

I remembered a theater. I remembered him and his strange demeanor. I remembered being trapped.

I recalled that he had been wearing a red dragon mask and a strange red dress suit combination.

"I think I left something there," I responded.

"At his house?"

"At his theater..." But I couldn't recall exactly what it was. All I knew was that some form of malicious deception had taken place.

I recalled the route to his theater, which was located off the side of the street. It was an old theater with a deep mahogany stage and bright red curtains. I navigated my way there.

I instinctively didn't want him to see me. I wanted to take what was mine and leave.

The problem was that I didn't really know what was mine. I was here on an instinct, blindly following intuition.

I hid in the rooms behind the theater. I could hear people talking, and was sure that I recognized his voice among the group.

I navigated my way to his stage room.

Against one side of his room was a red bed. Next to it was a chest. I felt like what I needed to get at was in the chest.

There were a bunch of books on his bed about stage and theater theory.

I quietly moved towards the mahogany chest.

I heard the doorknob twisting.

FUCK.

I jumped on his bed and quickly began to pretend to be reading his book about theater theory.

The door slowly creaked open.

"Well, look who's back," he said, as a malignant smile slowly crept onto his face.

I was flooded with memories.

"What you reading there?" He asked sarcastically.

"This...erm, your book...on...the theater of theory...I mean, the theory of theater...I find it really interesting."

"Well then, you can have it," he responded.

His eyes darted towards the mahogany chest.

"Fuck you," he sneered in a savagely threatening tone, and with a hint of wicked intentions he locked the door behind him.

Spoiler for Sleep Graph for Feb 23th: