I am so sorry if any of this is incoherent, I haven’t slept in days, for reasons you’ll find out. I just need help before I go insane, or something worse happens.

Look, we all dream right? Everyone has them, even if you don’t remember them. You dream every night, you just don’t remember it. At least that’s what Google told me. But I’ve never had a good memory of my own. Vague thoughts or feelings, but nothing concrete. They’d slip through the gaps in my fingers when I woke up, no matter how hard I tried to grasp them. But the dreams I'd always remember were my false awakenings. You know what those are, right? You think you’re awake, you get out of bed to start your day, and BAM you’re back in your bed. But it would always be like… once or twice right?

Not for me.

I’d lose count of how many times I'd wake up, get out of bed, then wake up again. Over and over, growing more and more frantic as I began to lose track of what was real and what wasn’t. Reading texts didn’t help, looking at clocks didn’t help, pinching myself didn’t help. I’d end up screaming and shouting like a damn child, crying for my mom. It was embarrassing. Worst incident was when I had the bright idea to fling myself out of bed. I had one of those high-up beds at the time. Needless to say my parents weren’t happy when they had to drag my sobbing ass to the hospital because I broke my arm. I had to get rid of the bed after that. And move out as soon as I could.

But that’s like… whatever. That’s not my problem anymore. I fucking wish it was, but it’s not. My current problems started when I went to the local shopping mall because, surprise surprise, I wanted to go shopping. Didn’t know what I wanted, I just wanted to go. God do I regret it. As I made my way through the awkwardly empty halls, lined with shops that still stubbornly remained, I saw it. This new… shack, I guess? Tucked away in the corner of the dead end. Well not a shack- It was made of dark purple cloth, glossy like velvet. A weird tent. And a sign, hand-painted on what looked like a piece of driftwood. ‘Oneirology’. The study of dreams, I found out later. I was bored out of my mind at this point, so I decided fuck it, lets check the weird tent out. Big mistake, obviously.

It was dark as hell inside, illuminated by cheap fairy lights strung up along the walls and roof. But what captivated me was the weird displays - wooden stands holding glass vials. I could barely see an unidentified liquid inside them; I took one in a nervous hand and saw it was some matte colorful liquid, like someone had swirled different paints together. It certainly swirled like paint too. Yet the colors never mixer together; the reds and blues and yellows all remained distinct. But I had to stop oogling the colors when a sudden hand shot out from the dim, grasping my wrist and wrenching it up and up and I looked up and I was staring face to face with a man. “Do not touch, unless you are going to buy.” he said.

At least, I thought he was a man at the time. I don’t know what I think he is anymore.

But anyway, I started writhing and babbling like a child, spluttering out as many excuses as I could pull out of my ass, when he just laughed and let me go. “Relax. You will suffer no harm. Just do not touch the merchandise.” His voice was smooth, too smooth.Practically robotic.

“I- What. Are you selling-” I squeaked out, finally getting a good look at him.

Awkwardly tall, stooped against the sloping roof of the tent. Clad in all black. But his face… incredibly wide, with a grin to match, and thick eyebrows… he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. And his grin somehow widened even further, eyes glinting with… something. “Dreams,” he whispered, clasping his hands together, “If you are interested.”

“I- What? Dreams?” I laughed then, incredulously.

“Yes, dreams. Good ones, bad ones. Those who do not want their current dreams can simply just… trade. I do not wish to make assumptions, but you sir, seem to be… interested.” he leered down at me.

I had to admit… I was. I hated my dreams, hated the drama and panic they caused me, the disapproving looks from my parents who found it all too pathetic that I could react so violently over… dreams. “...What if I was?” I admitted.I never should’ve said anything. The man laughed, and revealed another vial from behind his back. “Sleep with this under your pillow. When you awaken, bring it back to me. Of course, you can say no, if you so wish. I will not force you.”I should’ve listened to that warning, I should’ve said no.But I didn’t.I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, taking the vial from the guy. I really shouldn’t have.

...

I listened to the guy, obviously. Stuck the glass under my pillow and went to sleep. I still don’t know why I listened. A vague hope, desire to be rid of my shitty dreams. When I woke up, I noticed I didn’t dream. Like… at all. No memories dancing just out of reach, no fading feelings. Just nothing. And the vial… Well it was full. I couldn’t help but exclaim in surprise at the paint-like liquid swirling around inside it. Unlike the vial I picked up in the shop, the colors in this one were… gross. Dull greens and purples, sludgy browns. I couldn’t help but grimace. But the shop guy did say I should bring it back to him, so I did.He raised an eyebrow at it, but he didn’t say anything. “I am glad you cooperated. You are allowed to choose any dream you wish. Just bring it home with you, and drink it. Should you wish to change it, just sleep with the vial beneath your pillow, and bring it back to me.” his voice sounded almost automated, rattling off words from a script I couldn’t see.

“...Got it.” I mumbled, and passed the vial to him.His hands were unnaturally cold and clammy, and I flinched. But he said nothing. He just watched with a thin smile as I gazed at the sea of glass. I felt uneasy as his eyes never left me, so I just snatched up the closest one, muttering that I made my choice. I looked at the colors, all blues and purples, cool yet vibrant. “Excellent choice. Have a nice day sir.” he grinned, and I got out of there as soon as I could.

I tossed the vial between my hands when I got back to my apartment, regarding the sludge inside with apprehension. I’d just apparently given up my dreams to some complete stranger, and now I was supposed to drink a vial of them? And I did. I know you probably think I’m a complete idiot, and… well fair. At the time I was just so tired, figuratively and literally. Each night going to sleep was a gamble of nothing or trauma, and I couldn’t take it. I was desperate, and so I just… drank the vial. As the contents went down my throat I had the brief thought that the man showed up for me, but I dismissed the thought. The liquid tasted of nothing. I was honestly expecting it to taste like paint but nope, nothing. I guess that was one of the only good things to come from this. I didn’t really know what to do after that point, so after doing nothing all day, I just went to bed, anxiously awaiting what I'd find in my dreams.

It was utterly nonsensical. It was like it came right out of a TV show- some quest for a mcguffin I couldn’t remember, with people I couldn’t remember. The events were strange and nonsensical; fighting sentient gummy animals in a jungle, suddenly transitioning to a McDonalds’ play place, and ending up in a house I didn’t recognize being cooed over by grandparents that weren’t mine. When I woke up, I felt like I was experiencing the 5 stages of grief. But I REMEMBERED a dream. And it was a GOOD dream. Absolutely nonsensical, but it was GOOD.

The guy hadn’t been lying to me.

And then things went to shit, and it was all my fault.

...

I got bored of the nonsensical dreams after a week. I was never a patient person but I guess that cemented it. They were fun, but they were distracting. They occupied my mind when I should’ve been doing college work, distancing me from my friends whenever they’d ask me what was on my mind. So I went back to the shop. The man running it just smiled, almost like he’d been expecting me. “You are not satisfied with your dreams, are you?” he asked, “Worry not, you may exchange your dreams as many times as you see fit.”And that was it for me.

It was like a drug, I'll tell you. Being able to swap the kinds of dreams I'd have on a dime. I’d chug a vial, experience someone else’s dreams for a few days, then switch. They were all different. Some were strange and nonsensical, constantly shifting people and characters and locations. Some were more straightforward and almost boring. I always felt a twinge of annoyance when they were boring. I started getting dreams that were more like memories too. People I didn’t know living lives I would never know. Their ups and downs, their losses and achievements. In one dream I was cupping the face of the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, only for it to shift suddenly, and I was left staring at a flaming wreck of a vehicle, the roar of the rain and wail of sirens in my ears. In another, I was far smaller than I am today, shrieking with delight as a puppy licked at my face. I relished it. I feel disgusted that I did.

As I did, I also learnt more about the man. Or rather, observed things that, looking back, were concerning, but I was too caught up on the dream-high to care about. His skin looked fake, more like plastic than skin. No grooves or cracks or pores. His mouth would occasionally hold too many teeth, clustered together between his ever-present smile. Sometimes his fingers seemed too long, or not long enough. I couldn’t, and still can’t, remember his eye colour. Or any colors about him really. Just dirty and washed out, like paint water.

I returned to the shop after I'd gotten sick of my most recent vial - fairly mundane dreams about the dreamer’s failing marriage, that I didn’t exactly care about - when I realized the shopkeeper wasn’t smiling for once. He always smiled, no matter the circumstances, so fear wormed its way into my stomach. “Worry not sir,” the smile returned, “I just have to inform you that the shop will be taking its leave soon. We will be moving onto ventures elsewhere, so you must choose your dreams wisely. We may not be here when you want to return.”

I felt crushed, sucking in a breath, opening my mouth to protest, to demand and beg that I needed this… But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I just muttered an ‘okay’, and sighed, getting down to choosing what could’ve been my last vial. By this point, I'd gotten good at choosing my dreams. The more colorful the liquid, the more exciting the dreams. I poured over the vials, skipping over the ones that looked like they contained nothing but sludge. And then I saw it. That fucking vial that ruined my life. It was beautiful. It was like it contained glitter glue, swirls of metallic sheens of all the colors of the rainbow. “Why would anyone give up a dream like this…” I couldn’t help but verbalize my musings.

“Everyone has their reasons sir. It is best not to pry. But I must say, you have made an interesting choice.” the man replied, suddenly behind me.I barely jumped at his sudden appearance now. But I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about what he said. ‘Interesting’.

...

My first dream was simple, at least at first. I ate this weird popcorn that came out of a glowstick. It tasted absolutely disgusting, but I still ate it. And when I woke up, I could taste the acrid, buttery aftertaste on my tongue. I freaked out, upsetting my gag reflex a few times. Even after brushing my teeth the taste was still there, lingering. I tried to rationalize how the taste could’ve lingered. But deep down I knew. I knew it was the dream’s fault.

I tried one more sleep. In the dream I was hit in the face with a baseball, but shrugged it off like it was nothing. So imagine my terror when I woke up with a wicked black eye, face throbbing in agony. I rushed down to the shopping mall as quickly as I could, to find the tent, find the damn man, get rid of these dreams.

I collapsed to my knees when I saw the tent was gone. Not a single remnant of the thing, except the faint memory of the man's grinning face. Grinning with too many teeth.

My life has been hell since then. Each time I fell asleep, the dreams get worse. Much, much worse. I woke up shrieking, coughing and spluttering as I dreamt of being chased by sentient molten gold, the dream ending as it forced its way down my throat, burning away my vocal cords before I could even scream. I can barely speak now. I fell out of a window, cracking my head on the ground. When I woke up, I was stuck in my bed for the entire day, my head pounding and vision blurring and spinning. But the worst one, the most recent one- I accidentally cut the tip of my finger off. Golden blood, filled with golden flakes poured out of the wound, dripping and splashing onto the floor. No guesses to what I woke up to. Although I was lying in a puddle of crimson, not gold. It’s so difficult to type now. I haven’t been to the hospital, because they’ll put me under to do surgery. Who knows what I’ll dream of then? What injuries await me?

I haven’t slept in days. I’m so fucking scared I’ll sleep and never wake up. But I'm so tired, and it’s getting to the point I can barely think. Is it the blood loss or the lack of sleep? I don’t know. But please, if you’ve seen a man with a tent selling dreams please help me. Before it’s too late.

EDIT: Sorry for forgetting to mention this - hard to think still - but I did try sleeping with the vial under my pillow again, but no dice. I guess that's what the guy meant by final purchase, fucking bastard.