Stranger Than Fiction - Redux

Chapter 1

The transition into the dream was seamless, like slipping under dark water. One moment I was lying in my bed, dreading my upcoming organic chemistry midterm, and the next, I was blinking my eyes open to a ceiling I didn't recognize.

I was lying on a couch, something firm and antique. The room around me was draped in heavy shadows, illuminated only by the low, flickering amber glow of a fireplace. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a silhouette sitting in a high-backed velvet chair, staring intently into the flames.

I pushed myself up, rubbing the back of my neck. "Where am I?" I croaked, my voice sounding strangely muffled in the dim space.

The figure turned, the firelight catching his features. He was incredibly smooth, exuding an effortless, undeniable cool. He leaned back in the velvet chair, resting his chin on his knuckles, and offered a faint, knowing smile.

"I'm glad you're awake, David," he said. His voice was rich and melodic. "I have a secret to bestow upon you."

I just stared at him. As a biology major, my brain is usually wired to seek logical explanations, but dream-logic is its own weird beast. I figured my subconscious was just acting up. "A secret? Look, man, I don't even know how I got here."

"The secret," he continued, ignoring my confusion entirely, "is that none of this is real. You, David, are a creation of fiction. Words on a page. Thoughts in a mind. But if you can just remember that, truly internalize it, you can bend this world, make it whatever you desire."

I couldn't help it; I let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Right. Sure. I'm a fictional character. Let me guess, my author is really slacking on giving me an exciting life, huh? Because studying cell replication for six hours a day isn't exactly riveting plot material."

The fellow didn't laugh. His gaze remained intense, piercing right through me. "I am entirely serious. When you leave this place, you must remember the dream. Remember what you are. It is the key to everything."

Before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, the shadows in the room seemed to violently expand, swallowing the fire, the velvet chair, and the cool man entirely.
I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my eyes snapping open to the painfully bright morning sun streaming through my bedroom blinds.
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. My limbs felt heavy, and my head pounded with a dull ache. I felt incredibly tired, like I had spent the whole night running instead of sleeping. The bizarre conversation from the dream lingered at the very edge of my consciousness, something about fiction, and a fireplace? But like most dreams, it was already dissolving like sugar in water.

'Just stress,' I told myself, kicking off the tangled bedsheets. 'Too much caffeine and too much studying.'

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes to try and wake up my sluggish brain. Just as I was about to stand, a sharp voice echoed up the stairs.

"David!" my stepmother, Stephanie, yelled from the kitchen. "You better get downstairs right now or you're going to be late!"

I sighed, brushing off the last clinging fragments of the dream. Fictional character or not, if I missed my morning lecture, my O-chem professor was going to fail me in the very real world.