It’s this dream again. I really hate this dream.

“Hello?” No response. “Hello??”

Again, nothing. The water seems too eerily still; even my yelling leaves the surface undisturbed. And this brisk, wet coldness that seems to coat my fingertips, nose, and cheeks is accompanied by no breeze.

I feel like a wet sock—or maybe a dewy blade of grass.

Instinctually, I think to reach for the pocket of my jacket. I know this part; I know what I’m going to do next.

“Anybody who survived can come out now!”

No response.

“Hello?” Why am I even trying. But also, why am I not stopping myself? Why am I not choosing to do anything different.

Just then, the shriek of mechanical struggle creaks behind me, as the broken tube of a passenger plane slides further into this motionless water. And again, no ripples. I point the flashlight away from the vessel towards the fog and sniffle.

“I let everyone down.” Why did I say that? Who did I let down?

“They shouldn’t have trusted me.” Okay dude, what did you do?

My feet feel heavy with every step, slowly dragging my toes behind me as I walk along the shoreline. My flashlight is only looking straight aghead while every feeling in my body says “Look left! Look right! They’re watching.”

Who’s watching?

And why am I so alone?

[continue dream sequence but from the perspective of another dreamer who is watching this person walk around lonely and lost. they are also incredibly aware that they cannot seem to control their actions and words, and don’t know why they are in a dream. they must figure out how to meet, communicate, override whatever autopilot system they’re on, and break out of the dream]