Dream Logic: Douglas dumps Ashleigh; Matt gets his pants resized

It’s rare when I have a fun dream that I remember well. It happened once, two years ago, but I never expected it to happen again. This one was more stressful than fun, but you can imagine my surprise when, one bright morning last month, I woke up with full recollection of not only the dream I'd had, but also the dream my dream-world self had had within that dream. Make sense?

It must be noted that, in real life, it would be over my dead body were Ashleigh and Douglas to ever cancel their engagement and call off their wedding. Now, onto the dream.

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The walls, carpet and couch were pure white, whiter still where shafts of morning light slanted through the windows. The only movements were the curtains lifting in the breeze. They too were white.

I’d never known a home so pure, and yet this place wasn’t unfamiliar to me. The house belonged to Douglas and Ashleigh, both of whom had returned from their honeymoon days ago.

The room grew more surreal the farther I stepped in. It was only a lounge, yet it felt like Douglas and Ashleigh had purchased something between heaven and a padded cell. So quiet and still, it was only when I turned the corner that heaven turned to hell. 
I recognised Douglas at once, sitting at the dinner table, but the woman beside him wasn't Ashleigh at all. This woman's shoulders were broader; she was taller and fairer; and the hair that fell down her back in waves and curls was blonde, not brown. But I couldn't see her face. She was a blank in my memory, an extra in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Watching them sit there playing chess (as all couples do), I knew at once that Douglas had dumped Ashleigh for this woman I’d yet to meet. But I wouldn’t meet her - not today, at least: my throat was too tight for conversation, my heart too wrenched for any words half decent. It was all I could do to turn and leave the way I’d come in, but I was grateful for the couch when my legs gave way.

How could I have let this happen? How could a house so white be home to so dark a soul? Why did I feel responsible? 
I had to text Ashleigh. 

My hands must have found my phone, for the next thing I knew, my thumbs were keying in the one word that was beating at my mind like a drum. “Nooooooooo!” Even now I can see the o’s suffocating that text box.
Her reply - “I’m frustrated” - said it all. Even through text I could hear the thump of her aching heart, see the tears gushing down her scarlet cheeks.

And then I opened my eyes. It was a dream! A dream, I say! That’s all it was… but wait… where am I? The walls are blue, the carpet brown. Ashleigh and Douglas are here. They’re scrambling to groom themselves for the wedding. 
The wedding! I slept in!

I jump out of bed, though they’re gone even before I have time to find my suit. (My suit, of course, is the one thing standing between me and this wedding.) Perhaps if I put it on fast enough, I won’t be late to the reception. But the pants, I realise, are too big - ten sizes too big. I’d been told months in advance, yet still I’d forgotten to measure myself. My heart sinks faster than my pants can fall down. I’ll never make it. I’m a failure.

But I’m outside, racing across town to the suit hire. I'd run faster if I didn't have to hold up these stupid pants. Oh, but the afternoon is young, and my destination is a ten-minute walk from wherever it was I’d woken up. Perhaps... perhaps I’ll make it, after all; I'll endure a few scowls and glares, but I can apologise to the bride and groom later.

It's no use. Time is unbeatable. I’ve only acquired my new suit when my subconscious rings the bell for reception. I know it’s futile, but I run again, faster now. There’s a crossing; people are walking; the red man is flashing. Wait for me, flashing man! Don’t stop on my account! And he doesn’t. Today he’s a good man, but today there’s a cop car stationed twenty yards down the street. I stop at the curb. If my heart can sink any lower now, it does. The flashing man taunts me still, yet I cannot cross. The cop will stop me; I know he will. And the feast is over. Dream Logic told me so.

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Dream Logic: Brian, Matt and Nicole join a cult

It's super rare when I remember next to every detail of a dream. Yet, on one fateful morning last year, I woke up and remembered everything. It was a satisfying dream, satisfying and funny. So I grabbed a pen and paper and hurriedly scrawled everything down before I forgot. This week I rediscovered the paper, and henceforth adapted it into a story.

In Wonderland, Dream Logic makes your decisions for you. It also decides what makes sense and what doesn't. This is probably the reason why, when Brian invited me to join his 'church family', the only words that spilled from my mouth were "yes" and "sir".

He drove me to their house of worship, though from the outside it looked like nothing more than a house of, well, living. It also looked old. Vines climbed the forlorn walls like snakes, rust covered the pipes, and every window was smeared either black or grey.

"Are you sure that we're at the right place?" I asked.

He turned to me and smiled. "Of course. The place on the left is a fish'n chip shop."
I sighed. Brian had a fondness for puns - an unhealthy fondness. My fear was that he had a similar relationship with this so-called 'church'. "Come in," he continued. "I'll show you inside."

Inside was no less house-like and old. I scuffed a piece of torn carpet on my way into the lounge. Ancient furniture was strewn haphazard around the room, and on one side a weathered sofa faced the fattest television I'd ever seen. The air was damp. It smelled of wet wood and stale tea.
I turned to Brian. "Where is everyone?"
"In their rooms, smoking weed," he replied. 
I snickered. He had to be joking.
Floorboards groaned beneath my feet as we continued into the hall, where doors and ripped wallpaper lined the walls. A dozen doors led into small bedrooms of identical size and shape, to which I thought, Of course! Here, Dream Logic dictated that the sheer number of bedrooms set churches apart from dilapidated houses - for this was the only difference.

Brian paused outside a bedroom. "This one's mine. Every member has their own."

"You guys sleep here?" I asked.

"Better. We live here." He patted my shoulder. "So, are you in?"

I peered through some of the other rooms, and the residents therein glared back. One of them spat at me, but the projectile saliva cleared barely half the distance before shrivelling on the old carpet. Another resident lit his cigarette. The smoke it emitted was pungent and alluring. So, he wasn't joking after all. Yet I found myself turning back to my friend and forcing a smile. "You bet I am!"

Before you ask, it wasn't the promise of drugs that persuaded me. Rather, I was concerned for Brian. He'd signed up with some church I'd never before heard about, and everything within their sanctuary made me dubious to say the least. I had to investigate further, and the best way to do so was to pretend that I was one of them. I signed the invisible contract, and Brian showed me to my room - the thirteenth room, which, thanks to Dream Logic, didn't need explaining.

Brian stopped by the threshold and gestured a hand inside. "All yours," he said. "Well, it's not all yours. One thirteenth of this house is yours." He chuckled.

"Very funny," I said.

It took only a day for me to discover that this church was no less a cultists' hideout. The ruined state of this place was a sign in and of itself, but, moreover, the residents were mean. When I spied one of them using a hacksaw to cut his sandwich in two, I knew at once that these cultists were no good. Brian deserved friends who were more stable than these.

I awoke on the second morning to discover that I was alone in the house. So I did a little digging in Brian's room, opening drawers, upturning lazy mounds of clothes. Beneath his bed was a zip-lock bag half-filled with... dry leaves. I opened the bag, raised it to my nose and took a whiff. Interesting. I didn't get as far as the cigarettes, a row of which lay pre-rolled beside a lighter, also under the bed. Instead, I took out my phone. There wasn't a doubt in my mind. Mean people on drugs - this place had to be a cult. But I couldn't warn Brian. If he was smoking marijuana like the rest of them, then he was fully committed. He was sure to be more loyal to them than to me. 

I needed someone I could trust - someone with friendship as their incentive. So I sent Nicole a text. "I need your help. Brian's joined a cult."
"I'll be right over," she replied. Not leftover, I thought. Then I cringed. Damn it, Brian.

When Nicole arrived, I told her everything.
"There isn't a doubt in my mind," she said. "This place is definitely a cult."
"I know, right!"
"So, how do we bring them down?"
I brandished my phone. "The GPS says that the origin of this cult is a fifteen minute drive from here. If we head there, the cult will be instantly destroyed."
She nodded. "I'd better sign up first to prevent suspicion."
"Good idea."

For no reason at all, we decided to venture out the next morning. Nicole had voiced her concerns about spending a night in the cult house, stating that the residents might learn of our plans to betray them. But her fears were quelled when God spoke to her in a dream that night.
"If they discover what you're up to, you can sneak out through your bedroom window," God said.
Nicole was instantly relieved. "Oh, I feel suddenly better now."

You might be wondering how I knew of Nicole's dream. Well, I too was given a dream from God, in which He relayed to me exactly what He'd said to Nicole, through subtitles (the sounds in my dream were muted).

We took Nicole's car. The GPS led us to a field where lush grass mingled with the dark green hummocks and pines. The earth was wet, and I thought the car would sink in the soil. But I'd just taken a step outside when a notification on my phone read, "Cult destroyed."
I showed Nicole the message. "All done."
"Great," she said. "Let's go."

Even though we didn't actually do anything, we left with a great sense of achievement in our hearts, and emptiness in mine. That place looked great for a walk, but Dream Override wouldn't let me veer from my predetermined course. 
Speaking of predetermined, we stopped at the cult house once more. All the residents, including Brian, had disappeared - Dream Confirmation that we'd succeeded in bringing them down.
"What's that?" Nicole asked, pointing to a loose DVD face-down on the carpet.
"I don't know," I said. "But we can find out."
I shoved the disc into the player beneath the fat TV. I pressed 'play', sat on the sofa, watched as the black and white static flickered into colour. It was a documentary. A young boy, no older than six, stood in the shadow of Adolf Hitler himself. Around them crowds of people hustled across the scene: a backdrop of brown, dilapidated buildings. Hitler stared down the boy, who quavered in fear. But unbeknownst to Hitler, the boy was also drawing a gun. Slowly, he raised it, pressed its nozzle against Hitler's coat, and pulled the trigger. 
I was on the edge of my seat, and a gasp from Nicole revealed that she was the same. Was this how Hitler truly died?
But the gun never fired; and my heart sank as the voice-over slowly announced that, to the boy's dismay, the firearm was all but a toy.

Hitler smiled, but I never got to see the rest. Already the doors to reality were zooming towards me. Time in Wonderland was up.
And then I was in bed, curious as to how Brian could instantly throw his life away to all at once live in a run-down house with infinite bedrooms. Dream Logic would tell me not to worry - we saved him, didn't we? - but where did he go? Nicole and I never found out. The rogue DVD distracted us. Perhaps Brian's fate awaits us in Part Two. Perhaps he went home and forgot to tell us.

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