Everyone dreams. It's part of R.E.M. sleep. It's what we remember that some don't do.
I usually recall my dreams. They're the most vivid when I wake up. And when I wake up, I can't wait to tell the world about them. But as the day progresses, they seem to fade. I know I dreamt something freaky, but what? Often, my dreams involve my writing, psychics, and crazy situations I've kind of been in. Like kind of foster care. I don't usually think of my dreams as nothing but them. They seem too real.
This one night, I had a scary, freaky dream. I couldn't tell if I was me or a young psychic boy. I was at some beach home, I guess, and my sister and I needed to clean out between our bunkbeds. Which is apparently a death hole. Anyway, I realize that I need to go pee, but there's someone in the bathroom. So I wait until she comes out and I rush in. Much to my dismay, it is the MEN'S room. Ha. So I bitch my way over to the other side of the house to the inferior girl's room. I'm bitching because the girl's room sucks and the woman in the bathroom (apparently in charge) is yelling at me for going into the guy's bathroom. Eventually she just tells me to get out, so I find myself on the porch, sitting on the rail. Between me and the beach outside is this weird net. Next thing I know, I'm on the beach, trying to plot my escape. I eventually start running, and this is where I sort of loose my identity. I start running, while chasing myself. The one I'm chasing is teleporting away at every turn, frustrating the chaser, who is also me. Eventually, the me teleporter finds themselves at the movie theater where they got abducted and forced into the beach home of DEATH.
... it was weird.