Archived Thread

No. 33274
I don't know where to start. Maybe I should just present myself. Or my friend. Or maybe skip presentations and just tell my story.
No. I shouldn't skip anything. Everything is important.

Let's start from the beginning. My name is John Greenmouth. I had a PhD in psychology last year. The rest is my private life.

This is a story, a very strange story indeed. I don't know what to think about it, but I know I must write it down before I forget any detail.
Everything in this story is related to my friend, Eluard Grunmund. He was german, but still a nice person. He's a very important friend. I meet him four years ago, while I travelled through Europe. We exchanged letters on weekly basis, since Eluard didn't had Internet until this thing happened.

Recently, Eluard started speaking about occult things. Not really the Cthulhu myth or anything like that, but more the dream-related stuff. Of course, as a psychologist-wannabe, I was really interested by this as well, but I had a more scientist approach of the situation.
For Eluard, dreams were … a gate to another world. For me, they were just subconscious whispering. For example, you want to get laid with a girl, but you can't, because she's married or any other taboo like that. You'll still be able to get her in your dreams, 'see?

So Eluard and I started to discuss about our views. While I never really noticed it, I can notice now that Eluard became more and more angry after me. Of course, he wasn't really the kind of guy saying you straight, but now that I'm reading his letters carefully, I can say. Maybe it was my intransigence who made him angry. Yeah, it was probably that.
I'm joining to this document the last letter he sent me. I took the liberty to translate it, for your convenience, since Eluard was writing in german, but I'm leaving the original in the addendum.

“Dear John,
I must say that I'm sadden by your.. view. I can admit that most of the time, dreams are created by our brains. However, I hope that even a scientist as you may one day recognize the fact that, even in a dream, there is what I call “original content” (note: I tried to translate this as possible, but the german term isn't making any sense).

I know that you're probably laughing while reading this letter (note: I didn't!) at this poor choice of words. But that's still the best way to describe my feelings.

For you, my friends, dreams are created to release inner frustration. Right? Then, allow my to ask you, just a single question.

Why am I dreaming of a little girl dressed as a maid? (note: I laughed here).

Eluard Grunmund”

You're obviously thinking that I'm taking this too seriously, and that this letter was a joke. I though as well, and I decided to answer in a jokingly-manner.

But the letter came back to me, with the mention Address Unknown. At first, I though that I made a mistake, or something like that. But any letter I send came back with the same mention.
So, in the end, taking a break in my work, I decided to go see him myself. Maybe I vexed him by joking in my last letter? Maybe he just moved out?

In the end, my “investigation”, if I call it like this, lead me to a graveyard. Finding Eluard's house, I asked the neighbours, who sent me to the town hall. In the town hall, I learned that my friends moved away several weeks ago, after his parent's death. Asking about that lead me to a shameful silence. Nobody wanted to tell me anything.

I told you that I met Eluard during a travel. To be exact, I met him in Switzerland. I never knew his parents. He never told me. I stayed in this graveyard for several hours, trying to figure why he never told me. We were friends. We exchanged letters. And yet, during all this time, he couldn't … just say “my parents are dead”?
Could it be that he didn't trust me? Maybe he didn't want to talk about it?

After this, I tried to find Eluard, still asking, looking for his name everywhere. And I still couldn't find him. He vanished several weeks ago. He vanished, and yet he still sent me those letters, and he still received them!
I gave up on my investigation, I came back to England, and I went back to work.

It's at this time that I started dreaming.
No, it's incorrect. I should say: “It's when I started having lucid dreams.”
In those dreams, I knew I was dreaming, and yet I couldn't remind them. The only thing left was an impression of... void. It was like a part of me was still in the dream.
I slowly stopped working. In fact, I stopped everything. Day after day, week after week, I stopped leading a normal life. I was always feeling tired. I was going to my bed with happiness, but then I was awake, I was always tired. Slowly, every of my friends started avoiding me. I was alone, in my room, spending days staring at the wall, not having the strength to rise from my bed, unable to sleep either.

And then I had this dream.
In this dream, I was in my room, feeling good for the first time for weeks. I went on my feet, only to notice that I wasn't in my room any more, but rather in a sunflower field. An unlimited sunflower field. And then I knew I was in a dream.
I started walking, and then I remembered that I was in a dream, so I started flying. The sky was perfectly blue, with a wonderful shining sun. It was really a perfect world.

Flying for hours, I finally saw something stranger. Coming closer, I understood what it was. It was a girl, drinking tea, in the middle of the field. A beautiful curtain was carefully spread on the flowers, and the girl was sitting on it. I went to her, trying to start a conversation. It seemed that it was the thing to do.
But when I tried to talk, I noticed that I couldn't. My mouth was closed. My lips were sealed.

While I was panicking and trying to rip my mouth open, the girl was still quietly drinking, without paying any attention to me. After that, I can't remember well, but I know at suddenly, my mouth was opened. I quickly turned my face to the girl, only to notice that it wasn't the same person.
The first girl I saw had green hairs, green eyes, and she was wearing a red plaid skirt. The girl I was facing at this time was totally different. Looking younger, she had yellow hairs, yellow eyes, and she was wearing a pink and white dress with a red vest.
The girl stopped drinking, and was staring at me. Surprised, I turned around to hide my face while I was thinking, only to notice that the field itself totally changed. Instead of sunflowers, it was now full of red flowers, with razors-looking petals. I slowly started to panicked, trying to analyse rationally the situation.
It's when she started speaking, interrupting my though. I'm recalling each words she said, and so I'm able to write the discussion with a perfect quality. It started like this:
Her: “So you're the serious one?”
I asked what she was referring to.
“My dear friend told me about you. According to you, dreams are created by humans, right?”
I asked what she was talking about.
“I'm speaking about your former friend Eluard. He was your friend, right?”
I asked what happened to him.
“Don't be so frantic. He's... quite fine.”
I asked what 'quite fine' meant. Ignoring me, she rose from the curtains, and started walking in the field. Flowers were cutting and scratching her delicate feet, yet she didn't paid attention. Not noticing she was leaving a trail of blood behind her, she said while walking:
“You already know that this place is a dream. So, still according to your vision, I'm created by your imagination. But if that's really the case, I want to show you something, Mister Logic.”
Listening to her, I didn't noticed that we were leaving the field, walking into an mansion that wasn't here before.
“This place is my world. The person you saw earlier was a friend who came to pay me a visit. How unlucky of you to find her before I find you. Anyway, she's gone now. And this world is now completely mine.”
I asked what she was talking about.
“Simple as stealing a candy. Just look at him, and you should understand.”
And with that, she pointed to a man lying on a bed. I had troubles, but eventually I finally recognized him. It was Eluard, eyes closed, smiling happily. I went to him, trying to wake him up. I wanted to... ask him many things.
“He won't wake up.”
I asked the girl what happened.
“He tried to make a pact with me. His parents for him. I accepted.”
I asked her to explain.
“He's in a dream now. In his dream, he's living with his parents. Forever. Eternal happiness.”
I asked her why she was showing me this.
“For two reasons. First, I respect friendship. You travelled a lot to help your friend. Second, you pissed me off by pretending that dreams were created by humans. That's why you have my respect, but also my curse.”
And with that, I woke up.

I am now prisoner in my room. Through the window, I can see a purple sky with a orange sun. When I try to open the door, I don't have any result. I'm stuck in this place.
I'm writing this down, I don't even know why. Maybe that, somewhere, my body is moving like a sleepwalker. Maybe, when I'm writing this in my dream, he's writing this down in the real world.
If you can read this, I beg of you, help me. Each day I'm passing in this room, I can feel my sanity eroding slowly, like a mountain being attacked by ants.
I can feel it. I know I'll end insane. Each day, I see something different.
Yesterday, I heard noises in the walls.
Today, when I tried to open the door, I almost fell into... some kind of black void.

Help me.

No. 33276
[x] No. Stop writing.

I gave up a little more then half-way through this. It's bad, and you should feel bad.
No. 33277
While this is bad, I don't think you should feel bad. That's not very productive.
No. 33278
Yeah. No can do.
No. 33279
Question: what exactly is "bad" in this story?

Also, >>33276, be smart and read the whole story before burning it down.
No. 33280
You're right. It's not fair to judge something like this prematurely. I braved the rest of the post to give a fair assessment.

It was bad, and he should feel bad.
No. 33281
Your English needs work, for starters. Lots of mistakes and awkward phrasing.
No. 33289
Eluard Grunmund is a very strange name. I say this as a German.
No. 33306
It was a germanized version of Greenmouth.
I didn't do the research if it sounds weird for you, however.
No. 33320
Start with a weird name, end with a weird name.