The Weirdest Dream

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Recommended: Essay on sleep deprivation and mental health

The one thing that is even worse than an oversleeping headache certainly is having dreams. It makes people feel like they didn’t sleep at all, and tired because of sleeping while they should be resting for another busy day, well, at least that’s how I feel. Some people even waste time trying to figure out what their dream means, as if it can tell them the future, which is absolutely nonsense. Bad dream or good dream, it’s just not my thing, and I’m definitely not a dream-recording type of person, but exceptions can happen. There is a dream of mine that is worth writing down in case I may forget it in the next a few minutes since the memory had already started blurring. A pen that does not work is just as useless as dreams, for students, or the people who still write, of course. For me, since I got my own laptop, I preferred typing because it’s quicker, and I barely spend any time actually writing with my hands. This one time, the only time I got the chance to use a pen to deal with my assignments in these days, I found out it was broken. I tried for minutes to make that thing work -- I shook it, I rubbed it on a piece of paper, and I shook it again, then rubbed it. This pen still didn’t work. I throw it on the wall. Done. Lucky for the pen, it didn’t smash on the ground but fell into the bin, then it was soon buried in trash. Maybe it was time to go downstairs and buy a new one, this one was old anyway. That day I stayed up late, because I couldn’t let go the book I was reading. The accident with the pen had already been forgotten. It was about 2:00 am when I finally went to bed. Then I struggled for a long time trying to fall asleep. The disadvantage of reading-before-sleeping was that the book got stuck in my mind and I... ... middle of paper ... ...clearly that the life of mine was slipping away, those cold hands didn’t let me go no matter how hard I struggled, my lung was about to explode, and I started to lose my strength. I couldn’t scream, and I knew there was no one for help. Those kind of desperate feelings invaded me, started eating away my happiness, hope, anything nice and warm, then it finally had won. I am dying. When my sight began blurring and my head became dizzy, I heard a whisper: “ Revenge. ” * Fresh air. I opened my eyes. I have never felt so good to breathe and see the sunlight again. I was so glad it was just a dream, or I would be dead by now. I still didn’t understand why that pen was in this nightmare. Would I treat pens better in the future? Maybe, but one thing I had learned from this weird dream was that never ever cover your face with quilts when you are sleeping.

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