He was lying.
His dreams were outnumbered by nightmares. They were a warped and mangled world of static where his senses failed him. All sound was silenced, including his cries, and everyday colors were now lonely shades of gray; he could never pin point the cause of this curse. The only choice of action was to play his part in these demented stories until he was awoken.
Tonight he found himself on his back staring at a blistering winter landscape with tree branches following a violent wind stream: the dead leaves silently screaming. The ground below him was uneven as snow continued to accumulate, threatening to bury him, but he found no strength to lift himself. Shouting proved just as he thought, pointless. From above, the dark dull clouds stared back showing no sign of slowing down and Conri began to feel the cold biting and tearing through his skin. Snow fell on his cheeks and melted into tears that burned as they slid off. His fear grew and he could feel his chest tighten as his arms and legs were now disappearing under mounds of freezing snow.
If he had audible thoughts, he couldn't hear them, yet he was certain he'd be swearing repeatedly at the horrific possible endings to this dream. Buried alive, suffocated under the beautiful artic blanket, so he closed his eyes to not give the clouds above any satisfaction. Now surrounded by darkness, his sensations heightened, he felt his fingertips itch and prickle and the wind blow straight through his torso from his head. The cold air stung at him through his earrings making his head flinch at a familiar pain. Yet from the pain came a new sensation that differed greatly from his surroundings, a warmth that reminded him of a mug filled with a freshly brewed drink. It was cupped against his right cheek and he immediately leaned into it, accepting whatever was being shared with him.
Conri was afraid of opening his eyes and ruining whatever this was, so they stayed shut as the objected confirmed itself to be the palm of a hand that smelt of cinnamon spice. The hand gently lifted and brushed Conri's hair behind his ear, allowing Conri to feel protruding claws that traced the pointed shape of his pierced ear. The hand lingered on his front helix confirming exactly who this belonged to.
"Please don't leave." He felt his lips move through the motions with no sound.
Finally opening his eyes, the hand was gone, but replaced by a wide shouldered shadow staring down at him, protecting him from more falling snow. The two making eye contact before the shadow turned and started walking away causing Conri to panic more. He felt his body began to move again at his command, lifting through the now melting piles of snow: his clothes now soaking, weighing on him and threatening to refreeze as the wind continued. Conri turned and saw the shadow retreating into the blurry trees far ahead and caused him to attempt to call them back.
Inhaling a deep breath to ready his lungs, he felt himself shout, not words, but a ringing sound.
Next he blinked and saw a brick wall covered in posters replace the grove of blurry trees. His tank top and shorts were drenched in sweat under the sheets that previously constricting piles of snow. The cellphone on the nightstand ringing a synth like bass similar to EDM as Conri sat in his bed recoiling from another trauma filled dream. He let the alarm continue to fill his ears as he stared out the window to find it mostly cloudy, but with thin rays of sun poking through. No snow today.
Catching a glimpse of his reflection, studying its condition to reassure him he wasn't still dreaming. His olive skin wasn't dull or ashen, beneath his green eyes were faded purple splotches, he had strands of basil green hair sticking up in wild directions and on his ears were all eight piercings. When he was satisfied, he grabbed the phone and his glasses and silenced the ringing. The tired reflection came into clearer view once his lenses were on causing him to let out several breaths of relief, just another dream that he'll have to tell Dr. Bromley, perhaps this one karma for not being forth coming with his therapist.
"Fuck."
The sound from him was gravely and in desperate need of water, but he heard it.