The Pseudo World.

The pseudo world exists, and anyone can find it.

It's the light and scenery that is seen with closed eyes. The sounds are created by the slow and gentle drumming of a resting heart. The breezes are created by gentle sighs heaved by drowsy lungs. The feelings are felt by receptors numbed with slumber.

The pseudo world can be anything, everything, or nothing. Sometimes it's a single scene in a world of scenes. Other times it is an entire universe than spans far beyond into infinity. Occasionally, it's a black hole, empty and hollow. And while dreams of anything and everything are occasionally forgotten, the dreams of nothing are always remembered.

"I didn't dream." Oh, but you did. You dreamt of floating in the black hole. You were drifting idly in the void of space that is never seen but always imagined. Interesting how nothing can be so intriguing.

My pseudo world used to be a 22-story house. The ground floor and the floor above it were decorated much like a normal house -- a living room, kitchen, entertainment room, and bedrooms. These two floors were the only floors ever seen by my guests, if in my dreams, I had any.

These two floors represented what other people see of me... my mask of sanity; my facade of normalcy.

The top ten floors were incredible. The floors were made of polished white and black marble; the walls were marble as well. The furniture in the rooms of the upper floors was plush, fancy, beautiful. These floors were immaculate, massive, and amazing. They were crammed full of parchments, books, and papers... yet everything was neatly organized. Yet everything was covered in dust. I never made it far beyond the upper seventh floor. In the center of that room was a beautiful stained glass mural that reflected with sunlight, yet revealed no world outside. The house floated in its own void. A room on this floor was a bedroom of sorts, in which several kittens romped and played. But as I never ventured up that far, I never knew who tended to them.

These top ten floors represented my mind and intellect... large, beautiful, but also neglected. My inability to climb beyond the seventh floor revealed in me a fear of pushing myself beyond what I am capable of.

The bottom ten floors were awful. There were few lights in these lower levels, and each floor got steadily darker until by the lower fourth floor, there was no light at all. Except for one room. This room on the fourth floor was a beautifully decorated bedroom, that looked inviting in the sea of darkness. However, if you stepped into that room, you were overwhelmed by a demonic sense of fright and evil. I always turned that light off in my dreams, but it was always on again. The lower eighth floor was a flooded cellar that was home to chattering ghosts that would talk about you and laugh at your fear. They would gather around you and laugh in your ear, loudly, until you panicked and ran. But as it was total darkness, you would hurt yourself. The floors would get progressively colder; the furniture more deteriorated. Every floor had a spirit or ghost of some sort waiting to call you out, but the lower eighth was the scariest. Often times, I found myself running through these lower ten floors attempting to hide from somebody, and would wind up running as ghosts terrorized me relentlessly.

These bottom ten floors represented my fears, insecurities, and emotions... dark, cold, horrifying, relentless. My constant venturing into their depths revealed how much I was focusing my energy on all the wrong things about myself, and with each dream, I'd venture further down the depths.

In my dreams, I was never allowed to leave this house. I was locked within it, and none of the doors leading out would open. I spent countless nights wandering the darkness of the basements, as if I'd find a key to get out. Of course, I never would.

When I realized what the message was, I had the final dream of the building. I opened the front door leading out, and the world set out before me. Everything materialized before me, and I took my first step outside of the house.

The dream never returned.

Now my pseudo worlds seem to be revolving around schools that I've attended. The location is never the same and the dreams are spread a week apart from one another, and there has yet to be a clear sign as to what I'm looking for.

The pseudo world can be just as vivid as the real world, if not more so. Is it possible that our dreams are our real worlds, and the real world is our pseudo world? If so, do we all live on our own separate planets.

Perhaps we do. Then perhaps the pseudo world causes our real worlds to meet and cross.

Reality and imagination. The line between them is so vague.