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    Hazel's Boiler Room


    1. Why Reality Checks Are Useful

      by , 01-13-2011 at 01:11 AM (Hazel's Boiler Room)
      1/12/11

      1- Why Reality Checks Are Useful
      Driving has never been incredibly easy for me, but it's certainly never been this difficult! What is wrong with me today? Or is it the car? I flinch and hit the brakes nearly ten feet from the stopped car in front of me, but my stupid Kia keeps moving and bumps into it. Either the driver doesn't notice, or he doesn't care. More than a bit unnerved, I turn onto the interstate and head STRAIGHT INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC!!! Oh my God, I'm going to die!

      In a panic, I swerve to the right side of the road, lose control of the car (as if I ever had control in the first place), and slam into a vehicle who was blaring their horn at me in horror. My car is totaled. "Good thing this is just a dream," I say to myself right before I die.

      I am majorly confused. My mother tells me that I wrecked my car, but I am certain that the crash was only a dream. Was it possible that the car was destroyed as a RESULT of my dream? Or am I dreaming right now? Hmm...

      The dream changes. I am now a man who has been killing people in his sleep. The memory is vague at this point, but I recall looking at a lady with short blond hair who was holding a bloody knife...
      Tags: death, driving
      Categories
      nightmare , false awakening , lucid
    2. To Be Taken

      by , 01-10-2011 at 08:36 PM (Hazel's Boiler Room)
      1/9/10

      1- To Be Taken
      I am a young girl of about 7, walking through my front yard at night with a boy about my age. He begins screaming, and I look up in the sky to see a HUGE flying saucer. It beams him up and nearly gets me as well, but I scream at the top of my lungs and somehow avoid capture. My true mind, on a higher consciousness than the mind of my "character," knows the plot of the dream and what is going to happen.

      In accordance with the plot, my dream father rushes out of the house to see what is wrong with me. For some reason, we drive a ways down the road and stop at a party some dangerous men are throwing. My father gets into a fight with a spiky haired teenager and ends up punching him in the face. We jump in the truck (this time I'M driving, even though I'm still seven) and speed off as the boy's delinquent friends begin chasing us.

      Our truck is a lot slower than their hot rod, but I'm a better driver. As they pass me, I perform an amazing U-turn and buy us some time. Somehow the truck becomes a motorcycle. I fall in line behind a procession of other bikes, over which a police woman is keeping watch. I know that those crazy thugs after us will still be speeding, and the cop will arrest them for sure.

      The scene changes. I am now the father, looking for my daughter. Hearing a bloodcurdling scream from the bathroom, I burst the door down and am horrified to find my daughter transformed into a wax figure, mouth frozen open in terror. I touch her, and some of the wax melts onto my hands. I become fascinated by it's smooth texture.

      Suddenly I hear a noise, and I spot a short, Hispanic man spying on me from the shower. Infuriated, I grab him by the neck and slam him against the wall, demanding to know what he's up to.
      Categories
      non-lucid