Then he woke up, everything was just a dream.
In his dream, Aberneti was standing on a steep ridge, and the rock chip slope collapsed from the ridge and fell into the glacial basin surrounded by a small lake. The center of the lake is cobalt blue, and a circle of aquamarine blue surrounds the lake. On the rock, patches of shimmering turf spread and grew, mottled, as if a marmot had settled on it. There was no tree around, and the air pouring into his throat was cold and thin. Looking around, he could see mountains stretching for miles. Although everything is motionless, there is still a force that can sweep everything in the sky and the earth, which tightly wraps every inch of the texture of everything like a gust of wind.
”Damn it, you wake up.” A voice said. He was pushed behind him, and fell down the ridge with falling rocks, causing a small landslide.
He is standing in a spacious white room. There are glass boxes of various sizes piled up everywhere in the house, four or five in a stack, and each box contains a sleeping animal: monkey, mouse, dog, cat, pig, dolphin, and tortoise. “No,” he took a step back, “Never.”
A bearded man walked into the room. “Hurry up, wake up,” he said unceremoniously, “It’s time to go back, Fred. Doing your best is our only hope. When you start to lose consciousness, you have to fight it!” He grabbed A. Bernesi’s arm made him sit on a box of squirrels. “Now, listen up!” he yelled, “we are asleep! We are dreaming!”
”Thank God,” Aberneti said.
”Don’t worry! We are also awake.”
”I don’t believe you.”
”No, you believe!” He took a large scroll of drawings to Aberneti’s chest. The drawings were scattered and rolled down to the floor. There were some messy black lines on the drawings, which looked a little dirty.
”It looks like a sheet of music.” Aberneti said absently.
The bearded man yelled: “Yes! That’s right! This is the movement our brain plays, especially appropriate! The violin sounds like a complaint and fades like a sunrise-that was what once belonged to us. Reid. That’s consciousness.” He yanked his beard with both hands, looking very painful: “Suddenly fell into the bass zone, the bow repeatedly pulled, and fell asleep happily, yes, yes! At night, that ghostly Musical instruments: horn, double reed and cello, spit out impromptu tunes one by one at the bass, and stretch longer and longer, until the violin croaks again. Yeah, Fred, right!”
”Thank you for the praise,” “Aberneti said, “but you don’t have to shout so loudly, I’m here.”
”Then wake up,” the man was fierce, “can’t wake up, is it?! The nightmare is dead, isn’t it! With us? Everyone else is playing the new score. Take a look here-the REM period is randomly intertwined with consciousness and deep sleep, and we all become sleepwalkers! Step by step into the lucid nightmare.”
Through the man’s beard , Aberneti saw that his mouth was full of front teeth. Aberneti slowly moved to the door, grabbed the door and fled. The man swooped up, he was knocked down, and the two rolled to the ground together.
Aberneti woke up.
”Aha,” the man said-he was Winston, the lab manager. “So now you believe me,” he said sourly, rubbing his elbow, “I think we should write it on the wall. If we all start to lose consciousness, we won’t remember what it was like before. Everything was over by then.”
”Where are we?” Abernetsy asked.
”In the laboratory,” Winston replied, patience overflowing with words, “We live here now, Fred. Remember?”
Aberneti looked around. The laboratory was big and brightly lit. brightly lit. Several drawings recording brain waves were scattered on the ground, and black work panels protruded from the wall, piled with instruments. In the corner, there are two mice in a cage.
Aberneti shook his head sharply. Everything is back. He is awake now, but the dream is also real. Panting heavily, he walked to the small window of the room and saw smoke rising above the city below. “Where is Jill?”
Winston shrugged. They hurried through the door at the other end of the laboratory and into a small room with cribs and blankets. There was no one inside. “She might have gone home again.” Aberneti said. Winston said angrily and worriedly, “I’ll go and see in the yard,” he whispered, “You better go home. Be careful!”
Fred had already left the house .
On the street, the crashed vehicle almost blocked many places, but the situation has not changed since the last time Aberneti ventured home, so everything went smoothly. The smog in the suburbs is suffocating and smells like an incinerator. As he drove past the gas station, a clerk holding the handle of the fuel pump stared at him incredulously, and then waved at him. Abernetsy ignored it. On one such dangerous journey, he once encountered someone who wanted to stabb him with a knife, but this time he didn’t want to meet him again.
He parked the car on the side of the road in front of his house. In front of the wreckage of the house—almost a piece of scorched earth, the black chimney was only chest-high.
He got out of his old Ford car and walked slowly across the lawn with black footprints. In the distance, a dog kept barking.
Jill was standing in the kitchen humming to himself, moving the dark things around. Aberneti stopped in the side yard in front of her. She raised her head, her eyes twitching from side to side. “You’re back,” she said cheerfully, “how are you doing today?”
”Jill, let’s go out to dinner.” Aberneti said.
”But I’m already cooking!”
”I saw it.” He stepped over the ruins of the kitchen wall and took her arm. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s go.”
”Oh, oh,” Jill said. , Rubbing his face with a black hand, “Aren’t you romantic tonight?”
Aberneti’s mouth was about to reach the root of his ears: “Of course. Come on.” He carefully led her. Out of the house, through the yard, and helped her get into a classic car. “True gentleman,” she commented, her eyes rolling in tandem.
Aberneti got into the car and started the engine. “But Fred,” his wife asked, “what about Jeff and Fran?”
Aberneti looked out the window. “They have a babysitter.” After a long while, he finally said.
Jill frowned, nodded, and sat back in his seat. Her broad face was also stained. “Ah,” she said, “I really like eating out.”
”Yes.” Aberneti said, yawning, and he felt groggy. “Oh no,” he said, “no!” He bit his lip and pinched the back of his hand on the steering wheel. Another yawn. “No!” he shouted. Jill slammed into the car door in horror, and made a sharp turn in order not to run over the eastern woman sitting in the middle of the road. “I have to go to the laboratory,” he yelled, pulling down the sun visor of the classic car, and then taking a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbling a few words: Go to the laboratory. Jill stared at him and muttered: “It’s not my fault.”
Then he woke up, everything was just a dream.