THE LAST DREAMER

Ethan Miller awoke to the sound of a faint humming. It was the kind of noise that lingered at the edges of his dreams, something indistinct, like a forgotten melody playing just below the surface. He lay still for a moment, the soft glow of morning light creeping through the cracks in his blinds. The familiar hum buzzed around him, growing louder, then fading away, like a fleeting echo in his mind.

It had been happening more and more recently. A strange sensation. His dreams weren't just dreams anymore. They felt real—too real. And not in the comforting way you might expect from a peaceful dream. No. These dreams were different. They were vivid. Intense. And sometimes, they lingered even after he woke up.

Ethan sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes as his fingers brushed against his messy hair. His room felt unusually cold, and he shivered despite the warmth of the morning sun. Something wasn't right. It had been a few weeks since he first realized his dreams weren't like everyone else's. But today felt different. He could feel it in his bones, a whisper of something looming.

The dreams had started innocuously enough—harmless, even. They'd been about places he'd never been, people he'd never met. But with each passing night, they grew stronger, more real. And now, they were bleeding into his waking life.

The night before, he'd dreamed of a place—an unfamiliar city, tall skyscrapers piercing the clouds, streets lit by neon signs, and the hum of futuristic technology vibrating in the air. As always, it had felt as though he belonged there, like he had lived there for years. He had walked down the glowing streets, gazing up at the stars that dotted the sky, when suddenly, he heard a voice.

"Ethan… you're not supposed to be here."

The voice was a whisper at first, then louder, more urgent. He had spun around, but no one was there. Only a shadow—like a fleeting silhouette, one that seemed to move within the city itself.

Then, the world began to crack.

It had happened suddenly, violently—the very fabric of the dream warping and distorting, like paper tearing at the seams. Ethan had felt a sharp pain in his chest, as though something inside of him had been ripped open. And then, he had woken up.

The pain hadn't gone away. It lingered even after he opened his eyes, pounding in his head, his chest, his very soul. It felt like he was still trapped there, in that other world, in a place where he didn't belong.

He glanced around his room again, this time noticing something different. The edges of his desk, the clutter on his shelves, even the faint sunlight streaming through the window—everything seemed… off. Slightly out of focus. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. *8:04 AM.* He had to get to school.

He shook his head and stood up, but the dizziness hit him again. His hand gripped the side of the bed as he tried to steady himself. The world spun. The hum from earlier returned, louder now, like a buzzing in his ears. His pulse quickened. He tried to push it aside, but it was getting harder to ignore. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

He stumbled toward the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. When he looked up at the mirror, his reflection seemed… distorted. His features blurred, and for a split second, he thought he saw someone standing behind him, someone he couldn't recognize, but when he spun around, there was no one there.

Just the silence. 

The silence that pressed against his mind, like a vice.

*The first time Ethan realized something was wrong with him happened three weeks ago.*

It was an ordinary Thursday night. Or at least, that's what he had thought.

He'd been falling asleep in his bed, the usual fatigue weighing him down after a long day of school and homework. But then, instead of the peaceful drift into unconsciousness, he had been thrown into something entirely different. The ground beneath him had shaken, and in an instant, he was no longer in his bed.

He was standing in the middle of a dark forest. Tall, twisted trees loomed overhead, their branches contorting like unnatural fingers reaching for the sky. A cold wind blew, sending a chill through him. He felt the weight of the forest, the darkness, pressing in around him. He was terrified—no, more than terrified. He was panicked. It was suffocating.

But then… then he saw her.

A girl. A figure in the distance, draped in a flowing white gown, her hair cascading around her shoulders like liquid silver. She was standing there, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, her hand outstretched, as though reaching for something—something just out of her grasp.

Ethan had wanted to call out to her, to ask her what was happening, but before he could, the forest began to shift. The trees groaned and cracked, the sky above twisted into a vortex of black clouds. The girl's figure disappeared, and everything around him seemed to collapse. His breath quickened, his heart hammering in his chest as the ground split open, swallowing him whole.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the dream ended. 

He had woken up in his bed, drenched in sweat, his heart still pounding. But that was only the beginning. Every night since then, he'd been plunged into new worlds—worlds where things didn't make sense. Places where he was no longer just a passive observer, but an active participant. He couldn't control it, but somehow, he had the power to change things.

It was as if his dreams weren't just dreams. They were real. And worse—he could feel them. The pain. The fear. The heartache. All of it bled into his waking life, leaving him exhausted and confused, unsure of what was real and what was not.

And now, as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his reflection once again flickering like a broken screen, he realized with chilling clarity: this wasn't just some strange phenomenon. This was something more. Something beyond his control.

His grip tightened around the edge of the sink, his breath shallow, as the room around him began to pulse. The walls seemed to bend, the floor groaned beneath his feet. A figure appeared in the corner of his vision—dark, shadowy, but unmistakable.

A voice whispered in his ear, sharp and cutting: "It's too late to go back, Ethan."

He spun around, but no one was there.

His pulse raced. The world around him had changed. It was no longer just his mind slipping into these dreamscapes. The dreamscapes were slipping into his life.