[A/N: Hello everyone.
Thank you so much for continuing to read the novel.
Alex will have trouble with his dreams from now on.
By the way, no one clicked the heart button on my profile. I'll change the request again.
Could you please leave a rating for my novel?]
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In the morning.
I sat staring at the wall, lost in my thoughts, as if the solutions to my problems lay deep within the wall. Anguish ate at me from within, and my appearance betrayed me. Not only was sweat pouring down my back, but my face was also drenched, running down the contours of my face like small rivers. My hands were shaking; they were very cold, displaying a pallor worthy of a character from a Tim Burton film.
My gaze shifted between the wall and my trembling hands several times. I felt frustrated, scared, and deep down, I was angry. I felt anger, which wasn't very common for me, but it slowly filled my chest and clouded my mind. Part of me felt powerless because of the underlying meaning of losing the advantage that dreams represented, while the other part wanted to face problems with courage.
"I can do this", I told myself with conviction. I took several deep breaths until I calmed down.
I picked up the notebook again while I tried twice as hard to remember what had happened in my dreams. I alternated between frowning from the effort and jotting down a couple of random things in the notebook. Some of the things I remembered seemed to be in altered order; before, when I remembered dreams, it was usually in chronological order, and now only scattered images came to mind without a defined order.
In my dreams, I always remembered things partially; they were missing: the faces and voices of the people I spoke to, periods of time I couldn't remember no matter how hard I tried, and the conversations I had with the people who appeared in my dreams. While my dream memories gave me a general picture of everything that happened, I didn't remember the specific details of the conversations in detail. For example, the conversations with my new base mate, the blonde nurse, I was able to gather all the details only through deduction.
The first time I saw her and was able to remember anything about her from the dreams, it was some of her features; she was a young, blonde woman. The other time I was able to glean information from her was when we were talking, and I completely resolved my doubts about the person in the dreams. I noticed that she called me Alex, and that she also had extensive knowledge of medications, which led me to assume she was a doctor or a nurse, although I was more inclined to believe the latter. However, I have a vague feeling that on that occasion she told me her name, but I can't remember it.
Half an hour later.
Finally, after jotting down, many times, the jumbled ideas of everything that happened in the dreams, also making some assumptions and coupled with some intuitions, I managed to deduce what had happened in the dreams.
First, I went to the base I was supposed to go to, although this time it seemed to be earlier and in the opposite direction from the garden. This base was square and housed many houses, and therefore people. At this base, only the corners of the square were protected, and the rest of the vulnerable areas were guarded by outposts in all directions. "At least I think it was pretty safe, or so it seemed in my vague memories", I thought.
Second, the people at the base were quickly organizing their movements, and they were quite organized, and they seemed to have a lot of resources. Each corner had many people, fulfilling different roles, although I don't clearly remember which ones. They also seemed to have children and young people, who seemed to be learning various things, including how to fight.
Third, and apparently quite important, since it was what I remembered the least, and so I had to intuit some of the things. What made it important was that there were people I knew in some way, one of them a woman with whom I seemed to have a close relationship, who gave me the feeling I saw her in a movie, possibly an actress. Also, a man, who was apparently in charge, who seemed to have known me for quite some time, even before everything began. However, I couldn't recall any of these people's personalities now. All that came to mind was the feelings I'd had while with them. Above all, I couldn't recall the conversations or anything about the place they were traveling to, which seemed quite safe.
"Who would this man be who knows me?", I asked myself as I analyzed this part of my memories. "The only one I know who knows about the apocalypse is David, but he doesn't have this aura of a leader, or at least not that I know of", I thought.
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[A/N: We know it's David, but the protagonist wouldn't have known it even if the dreams hadn't failed.]
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Finally, I remember promising my base mate that I would save someone when I returned to the village. However, I don't understand what led me to that decision. Perhaps the people we're going to save are family members, acquaintances, or a group we know.
"That kind of incomplete information is of no use to me", I thought, a little annoyed again at not being able to remember the dreams more clearly.
After finishing writing everything down, I sat back down on my bed with nothing but a look at the wall in front of my bed. I thought about all the opportunities I would miss by not knowing more details about that group's activities, about the people I met at the base, and also the security measures they used to stand firm against the zombies there.
Unfortunately, that wasn't what terrified me the most. Losing my dreams was the real problem. Just imagining that this ability, which can save my life, just by knowing a few details about the future, might disappear or stop working, is my worst fear. It's as if you were on a highway driving in one direction, with a caravan that has many comforts—not luxuries, just comforts—but suddenly you must drive the rest of the way in a car, with little safety and no comfort. And worst of all, I had the direction I was supposed to follow before, but if I were to lose my dreams, I would have to walk that road blindly, without knowing where that chosen path would end.
Furthermore, another thought that flooded my mind was that having dreams gave me the hope of knowing how I began this path of survival. That some of the conversations or trips to the groups I knew during the apocalypse would help me understand what decisions I made at the beginning or what dangers I faced, so I could better prepare myself and perhaps avoid some bad moments. However, without dreams, the hope of knowing the beginning of everything fades, and the likelihood of making mistakes multiplies, and that at the end of all this uncertainty, the future I already knew would change, making my survival shorter. "I hope the dreams don't end", I said in a panicked voice as I continued staring at the wall, but now with a more desperate look.
However, something next to the clock that adorned the wall across from my bed caught my attention.
Third-person POV, forty minutes earlier.
Alex had gotten up as usual, staring first at the ceiling, finding, in the simplistic design and painting, a feeling of comfort and a sense of home like no other. As if in his dreams he was always in places he didn't like to be, and all he wanted was to return to the comfort of his home.
He looked toward the window, searching for the sunshine that always welcomed him on a good day, but the simple-looking curtains, like the design of his room, blocked the rays of light from passing through, which might have even woken Alex up much sooner than he would have liked. However, there were the curtains, like a faithful squire, preventing those intrepid beams of light from penetrating his defenses and firmly attacking Alex. Unwittingly, the curtains, fulfilling their duty, gave the room a warm tone, creating a scene reminiscent of a sunny summer weekend day, where Alex could do what he liked most: rest, watch movies, and eat comfortably.
Or so Alex would normally have done, but the situation changed in recent days. Hyper realistic dreams about an apocalyptic future, which was drawing ever closer, kept him on alert and making preparation plans for such a catastrophe. What changed, and has changed, was his daily life since the dreams became increasingly convincing. So, this would be just another day of exhaustive preparation and acquiring basic survival skills. Even weapons training was in Alex's plans, to survive this new stage of his life that was approaching. Alex sat down like every other day, leaning against the headboard of his bed, stretching like a cat waking from a pleasant nap, then tucking a soft pillow behind his back. Then, he grabbed a notebook and pencil that were lying beside the bed, previously prepared, and, as his new routine demanded, he would begin to write down the details of the dreams that had occurred during the previous night. However, something was different this time; something didn't seem right for Alex.
He was trying and trying too hard. He dropped the pencil in his right hand, used that same hand to rub his eyes, and then pressed his right temple, as if trying to activate something by simply pressing his head. Then he began to frown, purse his lips, and his left hand followed suit, pressing the other side of his head, seemingly to no avail. After all that effort came a period of despair, where Alex began to sweat coldly, his hands trembled and turned a dangerously pale color.
A normal person seeing Alex in this situation, and knowing what Alex now knows thanks to his dreams, might assume he was about to turn into a zombie, but no, that's not the case. He was just entering a stage of despair, which wouldn't let him live in peace, and with various effects, in the following days, even after the apocalypse had already begun. Alex would be accompanied by various feelings, mostly negative, that would lead him to make decisions he wasn't entirely sure of.
After all, and despite all his desire to be wrong, Alex was realizing that the advantage he had in getting through the difficult times ahead was fading, and would no longer be a gift, but perhaps, in a way, would end up becoming a curse.
Alex stared at the wall in front of his bed. He seemed to be staring into space, but he was imagining all the terrible endings he could have. None of them seemed very encouraging, and they only made him imagine more improbable futures. On the wall was a clock, whose faint ticking seemed to compel Alex to stare at it as if it were a black hole drawing in light.
"I can barely remember my dreams anymore", Alex said in a terrified voice.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
A small change of perspective.
Alex and his frustrations.
Will the information he's gained from dreams be useful?
A month ago, someone told me that it might be easier to explain the novel's settings if I used this kind of perspective, so I wrote this chapter using their suggestion.
I hope you liked it.
Read my other novel called Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time.
You can find it on my profile.]