Beneath the Dreamline

 

 

I don’t remember how I got there—just that I was walking with purpose, like something was calling me forward. The hallway was dim, walls draped in a strange, shifting light, like moonlight underwater. Everything felt heavy, like the air had turned to syrup. I wasn’t afraid—just determined.

That’s when I saw it.

A faint glow in the wall ahead, like a doorway without a frame. It shimmered as if it should open, as if something beyond it wanted me to come through. I didn’t hesitate. I stepped forward.

But instead of passing through, my cheek slammed into solid stone.

 

The pain was sharp, real. My face scraped against the cold surface, and for a moment, I was stunned—confused. Why couldn’t I get through? I knew I had been through that wall before. In another dream? Another life?

I pressed my palm to the spot. It felt alive, like something was pulsing just beneath the surface—like a heartbeat.

And then it responded.

The stone rippled beneath my fingers. A whisper crawled out of it, not from behind the wall, but from inside it.

“Not yet.”

My skin went cold. I backed away, but the hallway was gone. Everything was black. Floating. Weightless.

Then I heard it again—closer, deeper.

“You weren’t supposed to remember.”

And I woke up.

Sweat clung to my skin. My cheek still throbbed. When I checked the mirror, there was a faint red mark just where I’d hit the wall.

Dream... or something more.

The next day, I was somewhat quiet, not the kind of quiet that you lost someone or something, its the deep kind of quiet, that just thinking, there is got to be something more greater then beyond the veil, and dreamline could just be the door.'