A typical day in downtown Sant Cruz, California and the street hippies are out on the sidewalks, their wares spread out on wool blankets:hemp necklaces, blown-glass and drawings. I'm with friends, strolling the sunshine, listening to the orchestra of guitarists, hand-drummers and hand-clappers. I pass by my ex-girlfriend, Radha, and consider telling her that I'd been dreaming about her lately. But there is something strange in the air today. Though the sun is bright, it seems to give no heat. My finger and toes are chilled and numb. Soon I understand why as a scream pierces the autumn air. A young man is running down the sidewalk literally slicing people as he goes with a large knife. Blood is spilling everywhere and as the peaceful pedestrians turn into a crazed mob, I see more and more people running amok with large blades. As I sprint down Lincoln St. I get the feeling that these killers are not under their own control. I catch glimpses of friends running with butcher's blades in their hands. After a couple of hours of craziness, the knife-wielders have the city under their control. They have captured a group of hostages, including me. I am beginning to get the idea that this is a dream shifting into a lucid dream, yet something is still wrong. As my fear of death declines with the rising awareness of lucidity, a new fear emerges. My captors know I am becoming lucid and confront me about it. They torment me with an existential threat: "We know that you think this is a dream, but what makes you so sure? Have you ever had dream characters speak so plainly to you about this reality? Don't you see? We are in control of your mind now. This is no simple dream you can wake up from."
By this time, I am fully lucid but becoming slightly terrified by the very plain-spoken captor who seemed to know his shit. I reached the level of lucidity where the dream becomes so real as to be indiscernible from waking reality, and here was this dream figment looking me straight in the eye and claiming to be anything but. For a few brief moments, I am convinced, and feel the immense hole in my stomach open up as the existential dread wells up inside me like a stiff poison. Dream ends.