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Layers of dust seemed to cloud my vision momentarily, the sensation like watching an old film reel.
Here, in the dream realm, the dust didn’t cause my nose to twitch, nor did it settle on my fingertips.
Instead, it was a mere impression of time gone by.
I focused on the scattered documents, each one a potential lead.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, willing the dreamworld to reveal the truths hidden within the pages.
Information, I fed into my unconscious and, therefore, the dreamworld, give me information.
My fingers tingled, and I held my breath, hoping the universe would grant my silent plea.
Pulling the top sheet, I quickly skimmed through its contents.
The words melted and rearranged themselves, a garbled message of irrelevance.
Disappointment welled up, but I steeled myself for another try.
Well, I did ask for information. I didn’t say what specific information I wanted.
I centered myself and tried again.
It was like sipping from a cocktail whose ingredients kept changing.
Every time I pulled up a paper, it morphed, shifting in and out of focus.
This dreamworld, while a refuge from the waking world, came with its own complexities.
Objects, like the flickers, were whimsical, unpredictable.
Two hours seemed to pass like minutes, and still, the elusive piece of information I sought remained just beyond my reach.
The dream office started to dim around me, a sign of my dwindling energy.
My body ached, a distant sensation, as though my very soul was tired.
I remembered my encounter with the other dreamwalker.
The intensity of our brief connection had left an imprint on my mind.
Now, exhaustion overshadowed that curious event.
I needed rest, genuine rest.
Dreamwalking, while it might seem like a form of slumber, was actually quite the opposite.
It was more akin to diving into the deeper layers of consciousness, and it took its toll.
Dragging myself away from the desk, I headed back to my sleeping form in the dreamworld’s version of the Prize Pool.
As I approached, the boundaries between the dream and reality started to blur.
As sleep finally overtook me, my last thought was of the flicker.
Who was he?
And would our paths cross again?
