The following is a dream segment from the point of view of Arnold, the main character in Dreamscape….

                 Arnold stretched as he got out of bed. Sunlight streamed in through the cracked shades. He stood there for a moment, luxuriating in the warmth of the rays.

                He gazed out the window, across the street. Rows of pine trees stood in neat lines on the other side of the street. The sun sat just above them, a rusty red instead of the normal happy yellow.

                Arnold forced himself to move out of the warm sunlight. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and left his room.

                The clock in the kitchen told him that it was time to make Sunday breakfast. He opened the drawer under the oven and pulled out a pan. Arnold put it on the front burner, turned it on, and sliced a piece of butter. He dropped the butter into the pan and went to get the paper as it melted.

                Arnold opened the front door and closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. He felt around with his foot for the paper, and, failing to find it, cracked an eye open.

                The first thing he saw was the swing set across the road.

                Arnold frowned, wondering why the pine trees weren’t there. In their place was twenty yards of grass. Then the swing set.

                And the little black-haired girl sitting on a swing.

                She started to lift her head.

Arnold stared, wondering why a girl would be sitting on a swing with her head down, not bothering to push off and swing.

Just before her eyes met his, he blinked.

He opened them again, and she was looking right at him. Her eyes glinted red in the early morning sunlight.

Arnold felt his mouth go dry, but a burning curiosity overcame him. His feet moved of their own accord, even though his mind screamed at them to stop.

He walked across the road and over to the playground. Sand crunched under his feet and grated on his soles as he approached the swing set. The girl simply looked at him the whole time, her eyes reflecting the weird sun overhead. Her dress was the same dull, dark red as the sun.

“What is this place?” he asked. “It can’t be real.”

The girl smiled up at him, though he felt no emotion coming from her. The smile only touched her lips; her eyes remained the same. Arnold stared down into the deep red, drowning in blood and roses and fire.