This is my dream journal now. If you read it, I'm very sorry.

it's just a collection of my dreams I started cause I wanted to see other people's reaction to them I'll update it when I have a dream so every few weeks

This is basically all the cool dreams that I remember. Some of them may be romantic while others are action (I don't have many horror dreams). Have fun looking into my dreams my friends

An excerpt of an epiphany from my dream journal.

The title is clear it is a dream journal that I will be writing down to help other people with nightmares and bizarre dreams, some might be scary, funny, random , or screwed up , or beautiful depending on my brains mood the night before

Hi, I’m Miki Kira, I’m 16 yrs. old.  I usually like to write and journal about my life, and how I feel around others ,and how I see people.  No one knows that I journal.  I want it to stay that way.  If everyone knew I journal, they’d take it and throw it away.  I can’t risk losing my beloved journal..

When I was ten, my parents gave me a dream journal.

I hated it on sight. And please understand: I'm not saying that to exaggerate. I literally hated it before I even knew what it was. You see, I got that dream journal for Christmas, and my parents, in the usual expression of benevolent parental sadism that most children experience before the holidays, left all our presents out under the tree days in advance. Which meant that I and my kid sister Grace had to restrain ourselves from tearing open the wrapping paper, even though our fingers itched just looking at all those boxes, and our mouths started to water just imagining what was in the stockings.

Or at least, that was true every year except the year I got my dream journal. I don't know what it was about that small little box in nondescript, cloudy blue wrapping paper stuck off to the side of the usual gaudy pile of red, green, and gold wrapped parcels, but for some reason, its just being there spoiled the effect.

That's probably why I chose to open it first. You see, my family had a tradition that, on Christmas Eve, us kids would get to pick just one present to open as an appetizer for the bounty we were set to gorge our curiosity on the following day. Grace did what most little children do and picked the biggest box she could, apparently not caring that it would make the rest of the experience of opening presents anticlimactic if it was anywhere near as nice as its size implied. I, however, picked that sky blue box, just because I wanted it to stop being there. I don't know why, but my irrational hatred of that particular present was so strong that I was certain I wouldn't be able to muster one ounce of excitement about opening the rest of the packages if that one was still among them when the sun came up. So I pulled it out from under the tree and ripped the paper off with vengeful relish.

I don't know what I was expecting to come out. Probably a dead rat, or a slug, or a human hand, or something like that, so you can imagine my surprise when what fell out was, instead, a very pretty book with wide, cream colored pages, all bound up in black leather. At first, I thought it was a picture book, or some sort of novel, but when I saw the pages were blank, I realized it wasn't anything like that.

Father must've sensed my confusion, because he leaned over and started thumbing through it while explaining, in that patronizing and absurd voice that all adults think will sound comforting that, "It's a dream journal, Emma. From now on, whenever you have one of your dreams, you can write it down here before you forget. That way, if it's a good dream, you can remember it longer, and if it's a bad one, you'll feel better just getting it out of your system."

I think I must've almost thrown it when I heard that. Now I knew why I hated the stupid thing. For even though my father made a point of leading with the idea that I could write down good dreams in it, I'm sure he knew that I knew that nothing like that was going to happen. The truth was that he and mother had been worried about me for ages, because it seemed like there wasn't a night that went by when I didn't wake up screaming from a nightmare. Truth be told, I still can't recall a single night in my childhood when I had a peaceful night's sleep, to the point where I think I just assumed nightmares were a normal side effect of being asleep. I certainly always wondered why my little sister Grace never seemed to object at all, let alone as strongly as I always did, when our parents said it was bedtime.

The thing is, though, it wasn't just the frequency of my nightmares that was so odd. Yes, the content was fairly standard, as they usually involved monsters or ghosts or some other unidentifiable menace that went bump in the night, but what stood out was, for lack of a better word, the form. By that I mean, as scary as my early nightmares were, they weren't actually about me because I never experienced my nightmares in the first person. Rather, I would always seem to witness whatever horror my mind chose to conjure as if it were happening to someone else. It was sort of like watching a play, with all the terror of the experience being transmitted vicariously. Except no actor or director could ever make you empathize with a character viscerally enough to be as scared on their behalf as I was for the actual victim in my nightmares.

Oh, and that's another thing. It's not like I kept imagining bad things happening to different people. The person suffering in my nightmares was always the same: a little boy with long, light brown hair, freckles, and a round face. I didn't really know what to call him, so I just thought of him as the Sad Boy for most of my childhood.

That is, until I got the dream journal. And whether because I dreaded the scolding I'd get for throwing away a Christmas present or because some part of me sensed my parents wouldn't give up on trying to get me to record my nightly visitations, I kept it by my bed side when I went to sleep that night.

I wish I hadn't.

The nightmare I had that night was worse than any I'd ever experienced, even with endless terror plaguing my brain. I don't think I could have forgotten it even without the events that followed. But we'll get to that soon enough. Let me tell you about the dream first.

To begin with, even by my standards, it was uncharacteristically vivid. Normally when I dreamt, the one mercy was that the dreams themselves eschewed complete photorealism, either rendering themselves as if they'd been painted, or else with the proceedings taking place at a great remove from me, so that I had only a vague idea of what was happening. But not this one. In this one, everything seemed real enough, and close enough at hand, that I felt as if I might be able to reach out and touch it. In retrospect, I'm very glad I didn't try.

In the dream, the sad boy began going to sleep in his bed. I remember that unlike my own, sumptuous four poster, it was a shabby thing: nothing but nails and wood clumsily encircling a mattress that looked as if it had been eaten by generations upon generations of bedbugs. When I felt myself in the room, the sad boy was already asleep, and for just a moment, I thought perhaps I might have escaped a nightmare. His sleep was so peaceful. Nothing could disturb it now.

Then his face twisted into an expression of terror and he curled into a fetal position, as thousands and thousands of bed bugs suddenly tore their way out of his bed, and began circling him like a malevolent, blood-hungry cloud. No. No, a cloud wasn't what it was. It was a vortex, in which the scratching, chittering, biting bugs were mere atoms of filth dragging him down into whatever hellish vision of terror I was doomed to witness. I did not follow him down that crawling, hellish, bottomless abyss of filth and parasitism. But I felt the terror of his experience, and felt the sickening nausea as he twisted through its depths, falling, falling, falling deeper and deeper into some dimension or Hellscape I knew I could not imagine.

He was nearly at the bottom, when his terror reached a fever pitch: a feeling I felt so acutely, that I opened my own mouth to scream. And as I did, a voice infinitely younger, more terrified, and decidedly not my own, poured forth from my throat.

"HELP!"

That noise must have woken me up, for the next thing I remember is sitting up in my bed, the noise of my own cry apparently having jolted me from sleep. I tried to suppress the memory briefly before I remembered the dream journal lying beside me. Grudgingly, I picked it up, and flipped to the first page, meaning to record my vision in all its gruesome detail.

But something stopped me. For on the first page of the journal, written in red ink that I knew could not have come from any pen I knew, there was a single word, scrawled with such frantic desperation it was barely legible. It ran:

HELP

I shut the journal and didn't sleep a wink the rest of that night. I told myself it must have been an accident. That perhaps I had sleepwalked and written that final, awful word before tucking myself back into bed just in time to wake up. I prayed that was all it was.

I was so, so wrong.

"Mom, i'm going up first okay?" I screamed back to my mom who was just coming down from her car, as i run up to my room and locking it in the process. I stood on the door, leaning of some sort as i feel my breathing steady from the adrenaline i still felt was going through me from that dream.
That imagery was still stuck in my mind, unrelenting as it replayed the same dream all over and over again as i see the lilies wilting and the blue body deteriorating in front of me. As i replay the feeling of not being able to move, and the fire in me burning as i cry for help.
'It felt so surreal' I thought as i went to my bed, feeling the comfort and my body slowly melting onto it. As i took the journal and put it beside me, i feel its stickers and the soft cover of the journal.
'I wonder what company made this..' I went up to the laptop that was situated on my desk as i opened it. It was a sudden move from you, but you were just curious. 'Maybe that's why i took that journal..curiosity' I sighed inwardly, as i took to the internet to find journals that are popular among people in the journaling community.
'The leuchtturm1917..' I found in one of the sites that were recommending good journals to start. As i feel myself type the history and the reasons, it accidentally fell from my desk. 'Crap..' It fell on its back as i saw a wilted bud taped onto the back with masking tape. "That's..awfully weird.." I muttered to myself as i looked at the back of it. There was small note written behind it with pen
"Spring 2003..?" I said, hurriedly going back to my desk to open and finally look at the contents of this book. As i took a deep breath, i feel my heart beat increasing over just trying to open this book. 'Why am i getting so worked up about this..' I thought to myself as i went on to open the first page of the journal.
As..the first thing i see are scribbles..
'How am i supposed to read all of this Lily? Also whats with the..sudden obsession with the scribbles?' I thought to myself as i tried to find words, comprehensible ones to actually be read.
Thankfully there was a sum of words, thankfully i can read them. "Alright..lets try reading this.." I said to myself, as i start reading the lines.
'As i have said before , the feeling of being empty is slowly coming up to me. Feeding everything in me as i crawl into a small space. As i cry and wallow i take a piece of glass
And threw it at my mirror
I broke it again'
'what do i do?'
'just leave it be'
I closed the book with hesitance, reminding myself that Lily wrote this. Feeling the insanity from the couple of legible words she wrote down, i took a breather and went back to try and read the other pages.
-
It was useless, most of its scribbles and illegible words that either have no context or were disconnected with what the journal. With numbers laying around, my eyes dart with each number. 'But i don't even know what they do..' as i look at other words that were looked to be jumbled up together
The thing that was common with every legible word i can read though, are questions and answers to those. It felt as if 2 people were writing this, no several people were writing this.
"What the hell.." I then plopped the journal down as i looked over at the open laptop with an open tab. As i look over to the messages at the end of the journal. I noticed a small message written on the corner of the page
'Eilene is smart, she can read this. Right?' I raised an eyebrow from this, as it looked like another question with my eyes trying to find the answer for it. 'She can, trust us'.
'Its an us now huh..But besides that..' I then got the idea as i turned to the first page of the journal, where the message lies
'"Meticulously planned out my death huh"..' I thought as i went through the journal once more. With the pages i turn every time making me more confused. 'Wait, do i know what the meaning of meticulously mean, at all?' I said to myself as i hurriedly went on to my laptop to find out what it meant,
'Maybe it can help me..?' i thought to myself as it sounded more like a question with every step i took to trying to find out what this journal is actually about.
'me·tic·u·lous
/məˈtikyələs/

showing great attention to detail; very careful and precise.'
I took it to the journal once again, and glossed over the pages once more only to still be stumped after doing that 4 times in the span of 1 hour. As i slump onto the bed, i feel the chills that were from the A.C start to hit me.
"Maybe those were codes.." i muttered as i engulf the feeling of warmth around me with the comforter helping
'so..cold' I said to myself as i felt myself drift into another daydream
-
"So, may i ask why you were sleeping in Lily's bedroom?" My mom suddenly asks, shocking me as i choked on my food that i was eating. I looked over to see that she wasn't joking around, and she wanted an answer. After all i did spend more than 3 hours in a dead girls bedroom. "I..uh" I stammered, as she now looked more confused.
"I wasn't doing..much. I was just lying around in her room then suddenly i accidentally fell asleep" I said, hoping that lie could pass without her asking in too much detail. She then went on to finish her food, leaving me alone on the dining table
I sighed, not letting go of that dream just yet. Its been 5 hours since that dream, but i guess its still plaguing my mind as of now. The detail with the blue veins, with the lily's growing out of her body everywhere. From her eyes to her scalp, it looked as if she were deteriorating and decomposing and instead slowly being a place where plants could bloom
I didn't understand why i dreamt of me being on fire though, thats another symbolism that i haven't yet to understand. As i looked over to my mom, who was looking at a picture of the whole family that used to be complete. As we were standing in the park with green dominating the whole scene.
My mother quickly put it back, as she hurriedly left so i wouldn't see her tears falling down her face. Running up the stairs with her last words being, "Don't forget to wash your own dishes okay?" To me before going in her own room
"Oh..kay" I hesitated to answer as i hear the door close. I looked to my food, half finished as i slowly lost my appetite to eat. Remembering the tears everyone shed in both the funerals i went to. My heart slowly clenching as i hurriedly finished the half eaten food that was left on the table. And went to wash the dishes
-
I went to the upstairs as i saw the journal neatly placed on the closed laptop i was using, feeling the cold, stinging air from the A.C hit my lungs once more. I then slowly walked up to my school bag, as i prepare for tomorrow. I looked over to the stuff that were on my desk as i internally check the things for school
'pencil case, bio notebook, chem notes..' as i put them slowly in my bag, my eyes drifted over to the journal that was sitting there. As my mind instantly disagreed as i took the other things that were necessary for school
'So this isn't necessary?' A small voice nagged as i fetched the laptop and put it inside my bag, feeling the smooth surface leave my hands. As i tried to tune it out, it felt as if the voice was slowly growing in volume with my hands working on putting things and getting things out of the school bag
'So this isn't necessary?'
'You're not interested?'
'Are you sure?'
'It'll be a lot more help if you get some people though'
'So this isn't necessary?'
'So this isn't necessary'
'SO THIS IS NECESSARY?!'
'STOP..' i said to myself as i hurriedly zipped my bag and flopped onto the bed with the pillow on the back of my head as in the effort to try and erase the voice that started to echo inside my head
'Aren't you confused on what to do? You can get some help there'
'This is necessary, right?'
'Don't you want to know what actually happened to her?' It then stopped, as i stood on the floor, looking directly at the journal that was neatly placed. I felt my throat close as my curiosity took over.
Without me knowing, its already in my bag. Zipped and locked in my bag as i feel the voices start to fade away. The feeling of relief washed through me as slumped onto the bed with my body falling into a deep sleep

Lily, an 18 year old committed suicide on May 18th at the start of spring. As Eileen, was given a journal by Lily's mother that contains the words and the thoughts of Lily. As she pieces together what happened to Lily, what will she uncover in this journey?

When a glorious old civilization was toppled overnight, a strange purple moon rose and thus began the Purple Moon Era.
Damn it! What kind of ecosystem was this? The evolution was messy. Even rabbit bites and plants were not to be messed with. How can one survive all this? Evolve into a Purple Moon Warrior? What did this have to do with the Purple Moon?
What kind of map was this? The Safety Sector? The Floating Domain? The Darkness Port? The Storm Voyage? The True Capital?
The Horror Lullaby List? The resurrection of the Underground Race and the prospering Underground City? The Chaos Black Market that suffused the world? The Bloody Road?
More importantly, one could end up in a bloody slaughter when dreaming and enter the Dream Domain? Fine, this damned era! 

"Alchemy," a handsome middle aged blond man says, "Alchemy is often viewed as magical or miraculous by those unfamiliar with the craft.  However, it is a science, it is the scientific technique of understanding the structure of matter, decomposing it, and then reconstructing it. It is a science because if two people who don't know each other go through the exact same methods they both get the same outcomes, it is repeatable and verifiable."
"However, for all that it is a science; it is a contradictory and fickle science at that.  There are two main things needed to use alchemy.  First, comprehension.  In order to do alchemy, you absolutely require the knowledge of the inherent structure and properties of the atomic or molecular makeup of a particular material to be transmuted as well as the flow and balance of potential and kinetic energy within."
"And this knowledge must be all encompassing. It is not enough to know that water is H2O. In a water molecule, the hydrogen atoms form a 104.5° angle with the oxygen atom. The hydrogen atoms are close to two corners of a tetrahedron centered on the oxygen. At the other two corners are lone pairs of valence electrons that do not participate in the bonding. In a perfect tetrahedron, the atoms would form a 109.5° angle, but the repulsion between the lone pairs is greater than the repulsion between the hydrogen atoms. The O–H bond length is about 0.096nm.  Not only this but because it is a liquid you must have knowledge of how the atoms chaotically act in the liquid, which are not held still like for solids. Finally, you must understand that water does not just contain H2O, but many other molecules, and you must either understand those too or you must actively choose to not manipulate anything besides the H2O.  You must know all of this before your can do a single thing with water, even moving it from one pot to another."
"The second thing is something completely contradictory to this vast knowledge comprehension required; it is the metaphysical science of the object you are trying to manipulate, something based more on belief than real fact.  Beliefs of the people and beliefs of the alchemist doing the alchemy.  To use alchemy, a transmutation circle is necessary; this is where this metaphysical science comes into play."
"All transmutation circles are made up of two parts. First, the circle itself is a conduit which focuses and dictates the flow of power, tapping into the energies that already exist within the earth and matter. It represents the cyclical flow of the world's energies and phenomena and turns that power to manipulable ends."
"The second part is the specific alchemical runes. These runes vary widely based on ancient alchemical studies, texts, and experimentation, but correspond to a different forms of energy, allowing the energy that is focused within the circle to be released in the way most conducive to the alchemist's desired effect."
"There two different kinds of transmutation circles. A full transmutation circle and a simplified transmutation circle.  Both of these types of circles have advantages and disadvantages.  A full transmutation circle will have a lot more details, such as extra runes and most notably text itself is basically only used in a full transmutation circle.  Now the language of the text itself does not matter, just the meaning of text must be the same.  The advantage is ease of use and the disadvantage is it takes longer to write these circles out."
"A simplified transmutation circle will have far fewer details on them.  This can be good because it keeps your work making the transmutation circle from being stolen or easily reverse engineered.  To use a simplified transmutation circle the alchemist must have the full transmutation circle memorized.  This means that alchemists who don't know the full transmutation circle cannot use your simplified transmutation circle, but it also means that it is more difficult to use because during use you must be thinking about the full transmutation circle while you are also thinking about the transmutation you are doing.  Finally, simplified transmutation circle are a lot less detailed and so require less work to draw and therefore be used more quickly."
"Now before we get started there is one more thing you need to remember before doing any kind of alchemy.  And that is the Law of Equivalent Exchange.  You get out exactly what you put in.  Trying to attempt to much with too little will cause something unpredictable and catastrophic called a rebound.  This is a very good way of causing serious injury or death. This generally only happens because of a mistake in your calculations, a lack of important knowledge about the thing you are trying to transmute, a mistake in drawing your transmutation circle, or that your transmutation circle is flawed in the first place."
"So, before attempting any alchemy, you must triple check your work, both your calculations as well as your circle.  A single mistake will not cause you to get a 90% instead of a 100% on a test, but could possible lead to your death, generally via explosions, but also in many other unpredictable ways."
"Now in Amestris, generally the very first alchemical transmutation to be done is molding a wood block into something more interesting, such as a statue.  However, I disagree with this, because wood is ridiculously difficult to comprehend.  Not only that but every type of wood, even sometimes ones on the same tree, is different and therefore requires a different comprehension.  They choose this because of three reasons.  First, wood is a solid, which is easier to manipulate than liquids, with gasses being the most difficult. Second, it makes it so that only the most talented of people can learn alchemy, not to hold power to themselves, but because if you are not talent you are very likely to blow yourself up using alchemy.  And lastly, for some unknown reason, wood is more forgiving in terms of errors, a rebound with wood will never kill the alchemist, unless you're are really, really wrong, but will lead to failure instead and a ruining of the wood via melting, fire, or some other rather strange ways."
"None of these things matter to us right now because, for your first transmutation, I will be drawing the full transmutation circle, and I will be giving you the answers to everything needed for this transmutation. So, you will not have to worry about any kind of error."
He pulls out a large piece of paper and puts it onto the floor.  It is two concentric circles, with something of an S in the middle of the inside circle with two small circles inside the S's curves.  There is text all around the middle of the two concentric circles with even more text written above it and on the bottom there are to arced legs sticking out with even more text between the arced legs.
Then he pulls out another large piece of paper and puts it onto the floor next to the first.  It a much simplified form with only the two concentric circles, with the S and the two smaller circles.
"This is the simplified transmutation circle in case you were wondering.  You will not be using it for now, because you will just be focusing on the transmutation required and the knowledge you will need to keep in mind while doing so."
He then tosses a small journal to me filled with answers.
"This transmutation circle and the mathematical answers written in that journal will take exactly 1 kg of the H2O from a pot put in the left circle and put it into a pot in the right circle.  This transmutation is more than just a demonstration though; it is actually very useful in case you are ever in need of drinkable water, because it leaves everything not H2O in the left pot."
"First, read through the journal and memorize it, and then check it two more times against your memory, to make sure you have it."
She then opens the journal and looks through it slowly one time and then more quickly another two more times.
"Ok, watch this." He says and then puts two pots down one with about a litter and half of water and the other empty, "First, always make sure that the left pot has more than a litter of water, because less than a liter of H2O would be really, really bad. Second, put both hands onto the circle."  He puts both of his hands onto the circle. "Then, imagine all those water molecules that I told you all about before floating chaotically in the water.  Then, imagine energy flowing into the circle, but exactly as much as you memorized from the journal.  Next, imagine the chaotic water molecules stand still and then go up exactly hold much I had written down in the journal, then to the right, again exactly hold much I had written down in the journal, and then down into the right pot again just like in the journal."
At that the transmutation circle shines blue, and then the water comes up in a cylinder shape, the same as the pot, moves over, and the goes into the right pot. Not a drop of water is spilt.
"Now, when you do it, you will very likely spill some or even all of the water, this is ok, your technique will not be as good as mine without lots of practice."
"Now, look one more time at that journal, and then you can do it yourself." He then pours the water in the right pot back into the left pot.
She looks one more time at the journal. Then, puts her hand onto the circle.  After a moment, it turns blue and she smiles at her success.
Sakura's eyes snap open to see her bedroom at night.
The dream… it was so real… and the transmutation circle looked so much like the seals she had learned of in class.
After a moment, she gets out of bed and turns on her side table light.  Then she pulls out her class notebook and starts writing numbers.  The same numbers that were in the journal she saw in her dream. These numbers were hard to write down because her mathematics class had not covered anything as advanced as it, luckily in her dream she saw it four times, or else she would not feel like she could write them down perfectly.  However, the two seals, transmutation circles her dream called it, was far easier for her to draw even the incomprehensible characters for some reason were easy to remember and write down.
She has no idea why she is doing this though... It wouldn't work... It was only a dream right?

Naruto and Sasuke never knew that they were reincarnations of Asura and Indra until they were told so.
However, what no one, not even their own teammate, knew was that she was also a reincarnation.
(Sakura-centric) (Alchemy/Fuinjutsu Sakura) (Civilian-born ninja Sakura) (Naruto/Fullmetal Alchemist) (Not an SI)

I crosspost this on fanfiction and spacebattles.

You don’t have to worry about terrible English with this story, English is my only language and this is not my first fanfiction, although I will likely still make mistakes every now and then, if I do, just add a paragraph comment on it and I will edit it.

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