Potential trigger warning.
Based on my own fears and delusions.
You awaken, cold and sweating, on a rather itchy couch. Around you is darkness, penetrated by the lonesome light of a television. It is tuned to a classical music station. You recognize it as Danse Macabre. The floor is squishy, so you look down. Faces, the floor is made of faces! You look to the couch, it’s made of hair. You jump up, and you keep going, never falling back down. You rise into the darkness, no light to protect you as you hear the chanting of demons. Suddenly, it all goes quiet, and a lonely violin finishes an ear-piercing solo. Everything is quiet, and it is the end.
You awaken, cold and sweating, this time on your bed. It is a familiar bed, but it feels kind of small now. You get up, flick on the light, walk past your calendar in your comfy pajamas. You come to a sudden, horrific realization. The calendar, you go back to it. It reads decades before when you went to bed. You check if you’re dreaming in every way you know how but to no avail. This is real. Your entire life was a dream.