A Short Story : A Black Dream Story

came to her door, the manifestation of her nightmares came as well. Being cognizant of

In regards to why Mildred did not know or acknowledge the disconnect between her and Montag, the most influential one is her reliance to technology. An example of Mildred’s dependency to technology is the quote “And in her ears the little Seashells, the thimble radios tamped tight, and an electronic ocean of sound, of music and talk and music and talk coming in, coming in on the shore of her unsleeping mind. The room was indeed empty. Every night the waves came in and bore her off on their great tides of sound, floating her, wide-eyed, toward morning. There had been no night in the last two years that Mildred had not swum that sea, had not gladly gone down in it for the third time.”

Standing at the top of the stairs, the savory scent of baking biscuits drifted up from the kitchen below. She could understand why Fiona’s traveling salesman always picked this room. The luscious aroma filled the house with mouth-watering delight. The growling of her stomach led her to the dining room where she slid into a chair at an already empty table.

It was in that specific second she realised this was exactly like the last part of her dream she had received, only this time it was real. Her dream always started in a forest then travelled into the black abyss as she followed the raven and now she would finally find out what happens next only this time it wasn't a dream, this time she wouldn't wake

She walked down the darkened corridor, her heels clicking against the smooth marble. Shadows danced across the tall walls, the orange flames from the iron metal torches formed various shapes across

She saw in her dream what was about to happen, looming around her in her unconsciousness, creeping into her when she was asleep, a shadowy premonition of what was coming to shatter her.

Eventually, she passed a seemingly familiar room and ventured into its depths. There, she recognized her lavish bed calling to her. Without a second thought, she flung herself onto it and gracefully landed in a dramatic heap. Rolling to her back, she began to trace the patterns engraved on the bedpost with her eyes.

The moment it dinged, she collected both of the pieces and shoved them into her mouth as fast as she could possibly manage. She snatched her bag and ran out of the house, yelling a goodbye to her parents. She sprinted as far as her legs could carry her until finally, she slowed down to rest. Breathing heavily, she was reminded of when she’d woke that morning. That dream… That boy… I’ve never seen him before. Or that place, even. She was pondering the matter when suddenly, she was seized from behind. Yelping with surprised she turned her head to look at her attacker. Familiar blue eyes met hers and she immediately

I woke to shouting and banging on my door. I grabbed my pocket watch from the side of my bed; it read 4 o’clock. Who would be at my door this early in the morning? I thought. My body was dragged from the bed as I trudged along to my front door.

When she wakes she's shaking with that still dreaming feeling. The dream was real and beautiful and the waking world isn't.

The poetry of Langston Hughes, the poet laureate of Harlem, is an effective commentary on the condition of blacks in America during the 20th Century. Hughes places particular emphasis on Harlem, a black area in New York that became a destination of many hopeful blacks in the first half of the 1900's. In much of Hughes' poetry, a theme that runs throughout is that of a "dream deferred." The recurrence of a "dream deferred" in several Hughes poems paints a clear picture of the disappointment and dismay that blacks in America faced in Harlem. Furthermore, as each poem develops, so does the feeling behind a "dream deferred," growing more serious and even angry with each new

Daniel was already daydreaming, off doing something else. She sighed and looked down at her lunch, stirring the powdered mashed potatoes with her plastic fork. Looking at up the ceiling, she wondering what about the cafeteria ceiling could have been so much more interesting than her story.

Frantically, she began to search the woods for berries or something to eat. A random plate appeared behind her ,she looked at it and saw mushrooms that looked very tasty. So as starving as she was, she ate them. Surprisingly enough, the mushrooms tasted great and filled her up very quickly

But her mom did not listen to her and didn’t care. So, she forced her down there anyway. So, Macy went to the door of the basement, then she opened it and the door cracked and the basement was pitch black. Macy was so scared that she took a light with her down there. She walked down the stairs slowly as the stairs creaked every time she stepped on each stair.

The dream started like it always did; A black feather lying on the snow covered ground. I sighed and started walking. I didn't need to glance down to know if I was taking the right path anymore. I'd walked this path so many times I could follow the trail of feathers with my eyes closed. I reached the outcropping of rocks to where the crow sat on top of boulder, watching me. As soon as I got close enough, it jerked its head to the side as if to say "that way" and launched into the air, heading west. I sprinted after it, racing to where I knew the crow would go. I stopped at the large oak tree seconds before the crow landed in its branches to grab a leaf. I dash ahead of it, catching its flight out of the corner of my eye. I push myself to run harder. I needed to beat the crow. It swooped down to pick up a glittering red rock off of the ground next to me, and I sprint even faster. I had to beat it. I had to see her face. I had to ask her why she was doing this to me.