I dream in vivid color, my mind's imagined scenarios bright and alive. And, in many ways, real. Some dreams make such an impact that I remember them exactly as they were decades later, their images burned into my brain.
Dreams are personal. Sometimes, they show me something about myself I'd never before considered. Other times, they spark the perfect scenario for a story.
I can still recall the detailed dream I had some twenty years ago. A group of us piled in a van, on our way to some anonymous concert. We stop on the side of the road when we see a man who may be in trouble. We offer him a ride, and he takes us to the castle where he resides. The stranger tells us we're welcome to stay, but we're eager to get to our concert. The concert will wait for us, he promises. As long as we stay at his house, time will stand still, and we'll be offered any comfort we can imagine. There is just one catch. There are two main doors that lead inside the castle—a good door, and an evil door. We are to never touch the evil door, not even question it. And as long as we do as we're told, our every wish shall be granted.
Though I left the story at only 53 pages, it is one I have considered rewriting as an adult. Perhaps I will, if I ever find myself running short on ideas. For now, it will remain as it is, the inspirations of a dream written in haste, my fingers racing my mind to get it all down on paper.
The Evil Door
By Michelle (Reeves) Bredeson
Age 15 (I think)