The Dream This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   The Dream by Lauren B.l, Hockessin, DE Well, the rabid monkeys were chasing me again. In my unconscious state of sleep, I wondered why I couldn't dream like most people. I ran through the jungle, screaming at the top of my lungs, but the natives seemed oblivious to my pleas for help. It was all so familiar to me. This hackneyed reverie had played over and over in my mind. Night after night, it was the same.

I turned around only to find that the monkeys were gone. This was new. The monkeys were usually still there. In a state of confusion, I went up to one of the jungle natives and tried to elicit information. Much to my chagrin, I found that he only spoke a strange form of Pig Latin. Not knowing how to speak it, I had no idea what to do. Suddenly, my first-grade language professor, Mr. Hubert, dropped out of a nearby tree. He told me that he was fluent in Pig Latin and could help me talk to the native. After a brief conversation, I found that the native's name was Beedooborope and that he was really a Frenchman who felt like messing with my head. How nice! I muttered about the semiautomatic in my back pocket and continued on my way.

I wandered about aimlessly for what seemed like eternity until I came to a thick barrier of vines. I did not recognize the wall from past dreams. Figuring it was harmless, I pushed my way through. When I exited the other side, I found myself in a mall. Strange, I thought. A mall certainly transcended a jungle - comfort-wise, at least. Suddenly realizing I had to go to the bathroom, I made my way into a small store called "Toilets Anonymous." As I entered the store, the llama behind the counter greeted me with a pleasant smile. Wait ... a llama? Very odd, but he seemed nice enough, so I smiled back and continued on my way. I found a lovely restroom and relieved myself.

I left the toilet store only to run into a mother mole and its petulant child. It greeted me as if it knew me and started a boring conversation about the latest jaded political scandal. Its views were provincial, so I spent most of the time just smiling and nodding.

Finally, I tore myself away from the mole and walked toward what looked like an exit. I quickly pushed through only to find myself someplace new. The operating room had a lurid quality to it. Although there was no one there, I left hastily. The main waiting room was crowded with deceased presidents, their deceased wives and deceased leaders of what used to be the U.S.S.R. Martha Washington shoved by me, carrying a syringe and wearing scrubs. "Step aside, missy!" she commanded in a loud, irritated tone. She then proceeded to simulate C.P.R. on the floor. Reckoning that this was not the right place for me, I left.

I stepped out the front door ... and found myself falling rapidly through the air! This was not the dream I was used to at all! After a long time, I landed on a squishy, unctuous substance. Thinking it was going to eat me alive, I screamed for help at the top of my lungs. Suddenly, something big started shaking me. I feared for my life, but I finally got up enough courage to open my eyes. I squinted up at the bright light and saw ... my mom looking down at me. The unctuous substance had been my blanket, which by now was very sweaty. It had all been a dream. I guess I had forgotten that. I got back into bed, turned off my lights and shut my eyes. I stood up with fright when I heard a familiar noise. I looked behind me only to find ... rabid monkeys were chasing me again!


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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