When will this torment stop?
Almost every night is the same damn dream – I see myself jumping off a building, feeling that awful stomach drop, landing hard on the ground below. My vision and true memory of the occurrence is foggy and bleak; no one truly knows what death is like, so my mind can only conjure the slow, possible process in this dream world where time does not exist. I should be dead in these dreams, or at least wake up on impact, but instead I’m filled with emptiness, a throbbing head, a stiff, ragdoll of a body embedded in the ground, and vision as blurry as if I were underwater. All sound, if any, is muffled by an odd screech.

Almost every night it’s the same damn thing. Every night is the same pain, sickness, uneasiness, and boredom.
Yes, boredom.
When these dreams first started, I was caught off-guard – enough to be a bit shaken, but it’s nothing unexpected; it only makes sense that after years of agonizing waking life, I would begin to envision my suicide in my sleep. However, after all these weeks of the same ridiculous thing, I’ve grown bored, annoyed even. One might wonder why I haven’t done anything yet; the only answer to that is simply that every now and then, things change and brighten up for a bit, and I lose the need for self-saving. That, and I’m one of those typical people that fears pain and death, its process and what may be beyond that darkness, if anything at all. Just another reason to hate myself, I guess – unable to even take control of my own end.

Sleep used to be my only escape, the only thing I ever looked forward to. I couldn’t stand being awake, constantly dealing with painful, apathetic boredom; dealing with the stupidity of some people around me, and the cruelty of others; dealing with never being comfortable in my own skin, always wanting to rip myself apart, wanting to grab my rib cage and tear it wide open, and slash at every bit of my organs and skin with my stubby nails.
Being awake, being conscious, being alive was painful, always, in every sense of the word; I couldn’t stand to be in my body, to be physically aware. I couldn’t stand to deal with other people – so many of them pissed me off, while others only reminded me how worthless my existence was. That’s not to say things have changed, oh no, I still hate being awake. It’s just that being asleep has become pointless with this recurring dream. By now, I actually prefer being awake just so I can find something to do.
However, I have to admit, the dream isn’t fully recurring, and the day leaves me with much to ponder. While I have the visions of my possible suicide almost every night, there have been a few instances of something very different: blackness, a void. In these instances, I feel like I have no body at all. And yet, while it seems like this space is absolute nothingness, there’s a sense of something around me, an environment without words. In these ‘dreams’ I feel a presence I have yet to fully understand; it feels humanoid, but otherworldly, if that suffices. It’s impossible to see in the blackness – whether it’s just too dark, or the being is blending in entirely, I’m not sure.
Sometimes it’s as if the presence speaks. I don’t truly hear anything, but more like I feel the voice in my head. It’s always so hard to figure out exactly what it is saying. I can tell it’s not my own voice, and its aura gives the feeling that it is male.

During the day, the thoughts of these instances carry over. It’s been the one thing keeping me sane, helping me to ignore the negativity surrounding me in daily life, and helping to push away memories of the nightmare of my death.
For these past few weeks, my waking life has been erratic. My mind is filled with paranoia of a different kind – I continue to sense the presence every day, even if I had a suicide dream the night before, but he never feels ‘wrong.’ He never feels malicious. I always feel uneasy at first when he comes to me in the mornings, but that soon fades into a combination of curious focus, warm comfort, and slight uncaring: all an accumulation of the desire to know more about what this is, the idea of having an imaginary friend, and trying to still function in real life.
At times, I feel like more words are being spoken to me. Other times, it feels like silent observing, like something is floating above me or behind me as I go about my day. Most often, however, my mind is filled with images and feelings, some of which I have never seen or experienced before, and yet I understand them: visions of sand and gold, sometimes a black night with only a small moon to light the way in a vast, wide open area of rolling hills; visions of hieroglyphics, old, crumbling, stained walls filled with ancient carvings, telling the stories of millennia past; visions of feathers, and a black figure of some kind, both humanoid and not.
During these bouts of ‘imagination’ of sorts, I always feel a strange sense of comfort, as if the presence is truly a friend somehow, or at least just kind. It’s obvious to me that he’s the one sending me these images, where else could they come from? It wouldn’t make sense for them both to be unrelated. However, what really confuses me is the question of why. Why am I receiving these things in my mind? What purpose does it all serve? Who even is this and why have they come to me? Is any of it even real or am I just unconsciously making things up for no reason? I have so many questions, and no real idea of how to answer them. It’s not like I could just open my mouth and speak to nothing. People already have their assumptions about me, I don’t need them thinking I’m a loony who talks to themselves.

I’ve been sitting here, going over all of these happenings, contemplating everything from the past few weeks. Today was my day off luckily, so I guess it’s okay that I did nothing but lay around, and pace my bedroom all day. It’s gotten dark so quickly, but I’m too lazy to check my phone for the time. Thinking on all of this is giving me a headache, and my legs feel heavy, sinking into the old, beaten down and discolored carpet.
I must have been standing for quite some time, as getting into bed feels so nice, despite the mattress and blanket being so used and flat. I need to try and sleep. Even though there’s that chance of having that nightmare again, maybe sleeping will help clear my head a little, somehow. Curling up on the cool side of the bed, layering my bunches of pillows, it’s such a wonderful thing to rest my eyes in the cold dark. Normally it takes me forever to fall asleep, but this time seems different. I’m just so drained. Everything is fading into a strange peace.


What is this? I don’t remember my room ever becoming this dark at night. Why can’t I feel my body? I just feel heaviness.
Wait. Someone is here.
This is that dream again, being in the blackness. I can sense the being’s eyes looking down on me. I can tell he’s moving closer, standing over me. I can hear what seems like breathing, a sigh.
“Why do you do this?” There’s his voice again. I can’t quite describe its sound.
“You honestly must stop this nonsense.” That statement felt sad, yet hopeful. What could he be talking about?
“Enough. It is time.” His voice echoes and trails off, a hint of frustration in those words. Time for what?
Suddenly I feel a burning strain in my eyes, my vision has gone white. Soon, the light fades and reveals a flat meadow, the grass neither cut down nor overgrown, soft trees closing the area off in a circle. It’s dawn and there’s dew all around, creating a cool freshness in the misty air. Yet, the bright sun keeps the area somewhat warm. Even though it’s technically daytime in this dream now, there’s fireflies everywhere. Despite the fact my body is still too heavy to move, I feel a light breeze as I lay in the grass. Everything is so quiet and peaceful. I’ve never felt like this before. I hear a waterfall and creek in the distance – one of my favorite sounds; I love water. I could stay here forever, if it were possible.
As I hear light footsteps in the grass, the voice rings again.
“Come now, you can move.”
Getting up slowly, the sun blinds me, blocking my view of whoever this person or thing is.
“Where are we?” I needed to know.
“In what you humans call your ‘happy place.’ It’s simply an area with qualities you enjoy, sort of your own private section of the dream world.” Well that was easy enough.
As my vision clears slowly, I start to make out the being’s appearance. He’s tall, much more than any person could be naturally. His skin was as black as the earth below, in high contrast to the sparkling, gold jewelry and ornaments he wore. He had minimal clothing on, nothing more than cloth tied around his waist like a skirt. His body was very clearly humanoid in anatomy, but his head was that of a strange canine. Large ears and a narrow, long snout, but I could tell he wasn’t a fox, and definitely not a wolf.
Calmed by his familiar energy, but taken aback by his true form, I could barely make out the words, “Who are you..?”
He blinked and simply smiled at me, taking a step closer. After my initial shock, I became frantic.
“W-wait a second! Who are you? What are you? Why are you here? How did we get here? What’s going on?” Every possible question I had before, and more, came flooding out of my big mouth. Every little thing I pondered over these weeks, all the visions and feelings, the confusion and wonder – every bit of it came out in rambling, numerous questions, and the dog-man did not object. He stood there stoically and allowed me to say my peace. Once sense took hold of me again and I could regain some composure, I stopped myself, embarrassed.

The shining black figure’s expression changes to one of disappointment and concern. He looks away for a second, in thought, then turns back to me with determination in his eyes.
“I have been here for longer than you can imagine. I have been watching you for years. I have watched you grow, and fall. I have observed your experiences, felt your emotions, and witnessed these nightmarish thoughts that continue to haunt you.” He speaks quietly, but the power behind his words is booming.
“Understand that I do not completely blame you for your feelings and actions, but I am certainly not pleased.” To that statement, I lower my head in nervousness and shame, no response for him. He knew what he was talking about; there was nothing left for me to even try to explain.
“This has gone on long enough. Take my hand. I promise I wont bite.” He regains his slight smile as he reaches a hand toward me. Despite towering over me, his presence provides such warmth and comfort. I hesitate at first, but once grasping his hand, I realize I have a true friend; I feel at home. I feel a renewed sense of happiness and wonder. I want to understand more.
“I cannot give you every answer you seek, right away, but I will say this.” He stops for a moment, aware that my feeble mind could only comprehend so much at once.
“Your society knows me as Anubis, the name given to me by the Greek people many centuries ago. I sent all of those visions to try and communicate with you in your waking life, alert you to my presence and identity.” He bends down to hug me lightly.

“My Child, it is not your time yet. Your very well know this, or you would have ended your life long ago. I am sorry for all the pain you have endured, but I am here now, more than just an observer. Let me guide you. It is time to wake up.”

Written anonymously

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