[Log-9: Walking Dream]
Tonight, I left the house. Barefoot. Pajamas on. No jacket. I didn't even think about it—I just walked out the front door like I was sleepwalking. The air hit my skin like water after a fire. It was cold, too cold for a summer night. But I didn't care. My body moved before I could even understand what I was doing.
The neighborhood was quiet. Too quiet. Not even crickets. Just the wind brushing through the trees and the distant hum of something I couldn't quite place. Every house looked asleep. Every porch light felt dimmer than usual. The world looked faded, like an old photograph.
I walked down the street like a ghost. My feet touched the pavement, but I felt nothing. The asphalt could've been glass or fire or clouds—it wouldn't have mattered. It was all the same to me.
A car drove by.
Slow.
Its headlights passed right over me.
I didn't flinch. I didn't move.
The driver didn't notice me. I swear to God, they looked right past me. Like I wasn't even there.
I smiled.
And for the first time in what felt like years, it wasn't fake.
I passed by the church. That stupid white one that stands at the edge of the neighborhood. The one that rings bells every Sunday and hosts those barbecues with fake smiles and even faker sermons. Their glowing cross lit the parking lot like a lighthouse.
But it didn't comfort me. It pissed me off.
I stared at it. Long and hard.
Hatred bubbled in my chest, but so did confusion. How could something so small, so meaningless, still make me feel something? I wanted to scream at it. Smash it. Burn it down. But I also wanted to walk inside and ask why.
Why did I turn out like this?
A dark mist swirled around my feet. I don't know when it started following me. Maybe it was always there, waiting. It clung to me like smoke. Cold, sticky, alive.
And then I saw it. A house. Normal. Plain. Two cars in the driveway. Porch light on. Curtains drawn.
I walked up to it.
My hand raised.
I didn't hesitate.
I knocked.
One knock. Then two. Then three.
The light inside the house flicked on.
Footsteps.
Closer.
The door handle twisted.
And I smiled again.
[End of Log-9: Walking Dream]