None of this is real, not this life, not this website or this post, not whatever device you are using to read this. I hate to break it to you so bluntly, so let me explain.
I’ve been having a weird series of dreams lately. Oddly enough, that’s to be expected. They warned me that things might get a tad strange. It all started when I signed up for an experimental sleep study that was taking place at the college down the road. I’m currently between jobs at the moment, and upon hearing that they were paying $50 per night to participate, I didn’t think twice about signing up. Looking back now I can’t help but wonder, what in the hell have I gotten myself into?
Upon arriving, I was greeted with a stack of papers to sign, as well as a long series of tests. Some of the tests made no sense, but I was assured that they were important, and that doing them all to the best of my ability was crucial. They ranged from simple cognitive tests to word associations, motor reflex tests and an IQ test. After a couple of hours, when my results came back, this odd older man came to sit and talk with me. He seemed excited to be doing so, as if he were very pleased with my results. We stood in an empty room, not even with a table or chairs, and he made me do this really odd questionnaire, with questions like “On a scale of 1-10, how important do you feel your role is in the narrative, with a 1 being not important at all and a 10 being highly important?” and “Do you ever feel like somebody you are unaware of is watching or controlling you? If so, on a 1-10 scale, how strongly do you feel this? Please elaborate below.” They went on and on, for I don’t even know how long, and the older man seemed to be hanging on to my every answer.
When we finally finished and arrived at the sleep portion of the “sleep study”, I was relieved. I was so tired from all of the mental strain from the myriad of tests, that I was ready to finally get some shut-eye. I was led to a small room with a bed, and told to do my thing. I was a little taken aback, expecting to be hooked up to probes and monitors, but they assured me all I needed to do was go lie down and sleep. I couldn’t even see any cameras in the room. This wasn’t that kind of test, they said. They did make me drink this odd tasting concoction, but aside from that, I was baffled. This must be some new sleep medicine or something, I thought. $50 is $50 however, so I drank it down and crawled into the bed.
I never usually have much trouble falling asleep. Depending on how exhausted I am that day, it may take anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes. I was worried at first that with the strangeness of the situation coupled with trying to sleep in an unfamiliar place, that I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep at all. That wasn’t the case, as it seems like as soon as I shut my eyes, I was out. But I wasn’t out, not in the slightest. I had the most detailed and surreal dream of my entire life.
I was somebody else entirely, and upon removing this odd visor, I stood up to hear this woman, my wife, nagging me about taking out the trash. The rest of the dream played out as this person, and I just went about in his daily life. My name was Mike, I was married to my lovely wife Lisa, we had 2 kids and lived in a small suburb. Everything seemed so real, realer than real. Realer than my other life, even. I never recall being able to taste something in a dream, I never recall falling asleep in a dream, or even dreaming in a dream, but in this one, I did. I was Mike for 2-3 days, it felt like. Going to sleep and waking up, going to work, picking up my daughter from soccer practice, helping my wife cook dinner, then falling asleep only to wake up, still as Mike, and do it all over again. My dream finally came to an end late one night. Lisa was upstairs, she had just gotten the baby down for the night, and I was left alone at last in our living room. I laid back in this odd looking chair, and put the visor back on. Then, WHOOSH, I finally woke up back at the college, in the strange little room, in the strange little bed.
The older man came rushing in as soon as I got up and out of bed. He swarmed me with dozens of inundated questions, about if I dreamed, what did I dream about, what was it like. For hours he had me describe it, as detailed as I possibly could. After all was said and meticulously recorded, he sent me about my way. He told me that I was special, that with my experience, I had proven his theory. To me, it was just an odd dream, but he didn’t seem to think so. He apparently had spent the last dozen years looking for a special person, someone like me.
I kept having the dreams. Even at home, and without whatever was in that chalky tasting concoction. After several days of this, I returned to the college to find the old man again. I needed answers, these dreams were too weird. Too… real. He attempted to explain to me what he thought it was I was experiencing, but it’s just too far-fetched. Most of it went right over my head, and even most of what I could understand makes my brain hurt. He says that there are two types of people in this world, those with Perceptive Capabilities (PCs), and those with Non-Perceptive Capabilities (NPCs). He came up with this theory a long time ago, and despite having no evidence to support it, has been trying to validate it for a long time. For all of the years he’s been searching and testing, everybody he’s ever identified was an NPC, that was why he was so excited when I turned out to be one of these elusive PCs.
I don’t know if I believe him, honestly I think the guy is off his rocker, but I can’t deny that the dreams, they feel so real. When I wake up as Mike, with his wife and two kids, they feel more real than my other life. Aside from that, this world pales in comparison. Things here feel… they feel scripted, and every time I go to sleep in this world only to remove the visor from my eyes in that one, it’s like removing a veil and I can finally glimpse the truth.
I thought this, until one day, as Mike, I died, and upon sinking into that black oblivion, I saw something that broke me. Encompassing the entirety of my vision were the words “GAME OVER” and in a smaller font underneath it, “Retry from last checkpoint” and “Quit Game” underneath that.
I don’t know what’s real anymore, and in my fear and confusion, I was too scared to find out. I chose to “Retry”, and upon finding myself again as Mike, I raced home to put the damned visor back on. I don’t know who I really am anymore, or what’s real. While hiding from the truth within this simulation, I saw an advertisement that made me write this up and post it. It was for a new virtual reality simulator, one suspiciously similar to the one I always took off every time I woke up as Mike. I’ve been saving up, I think I’ll buy it.