Creative Writing

Beep, Beep, my alarm screeched, ugggg I groaned as I rolled over onto my side grabbing my dream recorder as I went. I sat up and looked with groggy eyes at the small screen before me, it had been plugged into my pillow and now was loading a movie of the dreams I had dreamed that night. On the screen appeared a girl who looked just like me, minus the blue hair, she was sitting in the same position I was on my bed except that she was sitting at a desk typing on a computer. As I stared at her the door to my room opened, “Time for breakfast,” my mother said, interrupting my thoughts about my dream. “Then it’s off to the psychologist,” she said as she exited. I had been going to the psychologist ever since dream recorders had been invented, and captured my sub- conscience abnormality. While most people have millions of dreams a night I only have one, and I live in it for the entire night. It’s like living another life, all thanks to dream recording technology.

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