Puffin

This is one of my
Five-Star Lucids

Type: DILD.
Lucidity: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Vividness: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Notes:
My friend dared me to try writing an understandable message in my next lucid dream, so I decided to make this a priority instead of my current lucid goals.

The dream began with me standing out on the sidewalk. I was in an area of the city that looked very much like the photograph below, standing on the sidewalk to the far right. I edited the photo to contain the colors and atmosphere of the area as well.

There were only three or four people, I realized, as I scanned the area. Almost immediately I knew that I was dreaming, but I was a bit skeptical (as with many mid-level lucidities) so I looked at my hands. This reality check failed, as both of them only had five fingers that looked close to normal. I then did the nose-plug reality check, however, and it worked perfectly.

I looked around, dream-spinning slowly to prevent the dream from destabilizing. I saw the buildings beside me and a person standing behind me, looking uninterested. I then remembered the task my friend told me to try out in a dream, so I turned around to look beside me, expecting a sandbox to be there. It was small, around sixteen square feet in area, but it would work. I picked up a long stick I summoned just by reaching down and "knowing" it would be there, and began to write in the sand.

I improvised what I would write down. The lines the stick made were wider than they should have been, but I still managed to spell something out. The letters looked like letters, which turned into words that looked like words:

"Yo, this is rad" in capital letters.

Type: regular dream.
Lucidity: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Vividness: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

I was in a smaller type of hospital patient room with only one bed; it looked pretty ordinary at first glance.

It looked pretty much like that, although there was a small rectangular whiteboard behind the bed, up against the wall. There was a black whiteboard marker along the bottom shelf. House was sitting upright in the hospital bed, with a layer of white sheets over top of his lower half. I was sitting in a stool in front of the bed, holding another marker.

We were writing down different words on the board in some sort of game. I only remember one: House wrote "fouche" on the board while I was turned away, and I asked him what that word meant. He stuck his tongue out at me and I saw a splot of ink on it.

He must have written the word with his tongue.

The last thing he said was, "it's the art of writing with your tongue. Duh!" That last word, he said with his classic House-ism tone.