Sane insanity

Dreams kept recurring to him, it was strange his mind was slowly clouded by madness, yet he was not ready to let go of reality just yet. He just couldn’t.
He knew something big was going to happen and he knew he was going to play a part in it.
His mind was still foggy with the sleep he had only recently woken up from, and he couldn’t help himself form slipping back into his dreams. His mad crazy dreams.
But something was different this time, something had changed. He was standing all alone in a hazy environment. It seemed to slip away from him at the edges, but when he looked around the things he was focusing on would soon become substantial, more real almost as if it suddenly tried to look better for him, after looking around her could slowly make out that he was standing in a dark dank alley some suburban tramp hole. His eyes however were soon drawn back to the centre, standing in front of him was a large black dog, he is lean and mangy, his eyes glowed with a fierce red, the dog is surrounded by an emotion a feeling. Most people would describe it as evil, but he couldn’t to him it was a feeling he was al to familiar with. Loneliness, utter loneliness.
He can see that the dog is barking and howling, although there is no sound, he is doubtful but soon he decides to follow and just as he steps to meet the black dog, he wakes up.
His room is dark and his alarm clock says it’s 4:46, to early to wake up and to late to actually fall back to sleep again. A soft breeze touches his skin, and he sees that the window is open even though he closed it before going to bed, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. The wind is chilling him to the very bone. He walks out of his messy room, navigating through old clothes books and wrappers of all sorts, entering the bathroom he pulls a cord and a light flicks on, a weak shaky orange light fills the room, he walks towards the mirror, and stares into it.
The same dull brown eyes, the same blond hair, and the same face looks back at him, he bends down and washes his face.
He jumps up, he hears a deep eerie howl coming from outside. The hair on every inch of his body stands on end, he thinks… He knows that this is the dog from his dreams. And he knows he’ll have to go after it, even though he rather wouldn’t, it was cold dreary and dark outside, and his mad mind told him to go exactly there where he rather wouldn’t be.
His mind spun in circles as he got dressed, his rationality telling him to go inside, telling him to call his doctor, to get more meds, to be turned into a mindless zombie even more. And he knew he wouldn’t do that he knew he was way behind on any form of medication he should be taking, he knew people would lock him up if they realized that he saw, heard, smelled felt and could even sometimes taste them. Them the creatures, the demons of his mind, they were more real than anything, and any of his medication only made him ignorant and oblivious to them, just like it made him unresponsive to anything or anyone else.He had put on his clothes, black mostly, just like his coat was long and leather. If you were considered insane and if you couldn’t even start to deny that you was, you were soon forced towards people who thought they understood, people who made a statement by being….. different to say the least. So you’d end up with Goths, the types that claim to see stuff like that all the time. Some do see stuff, but then again some just claim to. Others cannot handle to either pretend or to actually see stuff, and decided to end it.
He was the only one of people who saw stuff like him who didn’t shy away.
He had found friends, others like him who were shunned and forced towards something they weren’t really a part of, all of them split up, they all tried to make a live for themselves, go to college and stuff study something. And he was sure they had all failed.
He walked outside, still reflecting on what he was, still thinking about a reason, any reason that would make sense to others as to why he had failed so miserably. He lived of his parents money, he was fired because of his fits and rants to people who were tainted by what he knew was there, tainted by what no one else he knew close by could see. He would scream curse and yell at them, and he couldn’t stop it, there wasn’t anything he could do he felt powerless, and off course yelling and cursing didn’t get you anywhere in a company, so he got first. He thought about his life and shrugged another thing you learned from Goths, was not to give a shit about nothing.
He stepped outside into the cold air, it didn’t matter how quite he tried to be everything he did sounded extremely loud to him regardless, because it was the only sound he heard, he was the only awake person in this dreary city. And he was going after a figment of his imagination, a figure from a dream.