The Dream with the Mirror

I’ve heard many times not to look at a mirror in a dream. I often wondered why. Would I see something terrible? Something I wouldn’t want to see? Would I see myself for who I really am, or who I think I am? Would that haunt me?

I tried several times as I went to sleep to look at a mirror in a dream, but I would often forget to do so.

Then, one night, I was walking around in a dream, pacing around my room. I had a weird sweater on that had Winnie the Pooh on it. I went to the mirror in my room to have a better look at how I looked.

I looked dumb. Not because it was Winnie the Pooh but because the sweater was torn in the front, ragged and worn-out.

I took off the strange yellow sweater and tossed it inside and looked at the mirror once again, remembering words that warned me not to look at a mirror in a dream. Would I hate myself? Would I regret everything?

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The world is blank – white – as I stand, silently. Everything is empty, silent, and it is as if I’m forced to a standstill, as if my feet are glued to the floor.

Only one other person stands before me – my father. But he’s dressed in scrubs, ready for work.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asks.

“…A doctor,” I reply after a long silence. I could not even begin to guess where we are. Am I dreaming?

“No,” my dad says. “What do you really want?”

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A young girl, a child, with pale blonde hair and eyes as black as coal runs up to me. Her looks and the black dress remind me of someone, but I push all this aside. This girl takes me somewhere, and suddenly – I stop her.

I have the feeling we’ve been playing together for hours in what seem like minutes.

I ask her a simple question: “Where are we?”

Her crescent smile wanes away, and she no longer looks at me. She turns to the passerby as they walk somewhere far off I cannot see.

“This is a dream,” she responds. Before I can say anything, she adds. “This place is not real. These people are not real.”

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