Introduction:

I fall asleep. Then I wake up. I'm back here. Again.

I know where I am, I've seen this place before, but where is it?

I know it's in my mind – this is my frequent dream – but if this place actually exists, where is it on Earth? The sky is black so it must be night-time…no, it's not. There's a man in his dressing gown, standing by his bedroom window, sipping something from a china cup. He sees me, greets me and cries "Good morning!"

So, it's definitely daytime, but why is the sky so dark? Question answered: I must be underground. The floor is mucky. There's a musky smell about the place and when I look at the sky, I see these thick, white tentacles curling about in the sky, wrapping around an invisible cocoon.

Must be tree roots. That would explain the 'underground' theory.

There are buildings all around me. They're old, peeling at the walls, patches of faded paint dotted all over them like an abstract painting. Their doors are wooden, cracked around the hinges and always creaking whenever they move barely an inch. Where is this place?

WHAT is this place? Some kind of purgatory? Seems like it. But what did I do to get here? The only sin worth purgatory that I've committed was missing a deadline for an essay.

It's like the place between life and death. There is life, but it's dead. I'm surrounded by living dead people – skeletons and zombies – but not like the ones in the films. No one's trying to eat my flesh. Not that I have a lot myself.

I'm dead, too.

I'm blue all over. Every inch of my skin is pale blue, my finger nails cracked and muddy – how or why, I don't know.

My hair has changed. It used to be silky, soft and knot-free. Now I feel like I'm wearing a sweeping broom on my head. Dry, tangled, manky – and blue!

Is everything about me blue?

Not quite. My clothes aren't. Though they have changed too. I was in my favourite fluffy pyjamas just moments ago when I turned the bedside lamp off. And now I'm wearing this…this…gown, of some sort. Dirty, torn, rotten. And high heeled shoes, worn-out white with patches of dirt splattered on them. Was I running through mud and rain?

OK, breathe Emily.

Why else would I be surrounded by dim-coloured buildings, and antique wooden coffins? I must be dreaming. What else could it be? No, this isn't a dream, it's a nightmare. This isn't pleasant!

I'm dreaming. I must be. Either that, or incredibly drunk. No I'm not. I had a quiet night in with Charlotte, some films on the Internet, and a take-away pizza, strictly no alcohol.

I remember ordering the pizza. Margarita with extra cheese, half with chicken and red onions, the other with extra cheese and no meat – because Charlotte's a vegetarian – and a side of garlic bread. And it was delicious! Then we watched some cheap, low-budget horror films on the Internet, searched YouTube for random animal videos, laughed our heads off and didn't get to bed until gone midnight.

It's just a dream. I'll wake up in a few hours, get dressed, have some breakfast, watch the news and go to my lectures, write an essay, plan dinner, eat, gossip with Charlotte, watch some TV then go to bed. Just like I do every other day.

Ugh, I need to get out more. What I need is to get rid of this dream. This is the sixth time this month I've had the same dream – so far! Why?! I don't know!

Wouldn't be asking the questions if I knew.

Just try and get some sleep, Emily. It's just a dream.

Isn't it?