What if the dream you’re trapped in isn’t a dream at all—but the moment you wake up to real terror?
Flash Fiction Prompt:
Her breath came in ragged gasps as her back pressed against the brick wall. The alley reeked of rain and rot. His shadow stretched before her—long, deliberate, alive. The knife in his hand caught the faint orange flicker of a dying streetlight. “You shouldn’t have woken up,” he whispered.
She blinked hard. A dream, she told herself. It’s just another nightmare. But when the cold edge grazed her throat, her body screamed real. She tried to move, but her legs were heavy, unresponsive—like sinking in wet cement. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw herself standing at the mouth of the alley, watching.
If I’m dreaming, she thought, why is the other me smiling?
Then the knife came down, and both versions of her screamed.
Question for readers:
What would you do if you woke inside a dream—and the dream refused to let you wake up?