Everyone Dreams the Same Dream

The first night it happened, people thought it was coincidence.

A strange dream, yes—but dreams were strange by nature. Millions of people woke up with the same uneasy feeling, the same echo in their minds: a vast, dark sky and a single number floating in the air.

9

No one panicked. Not yet.

By morning, social media buzzed with half-joking posts. Did anyone else dream of a giant number? Why was the sky black? Why did it feel so real? Psychologists blamed shared anxieties. News outlets called it a mass suggestion phenomenon. People laughed and moved on.

That night, the dream returned.

This time, no one could ignore it.

The sky in the dream stretched endlessly, starless and heavy, pressing down like a lid. The ground beneath everyone’s feet felt cold and smooth, like stone polished by centuries of use. No matter where you stood, you were not alone. Billions of silhouettes surrounded you—people from every country, every language, every age—yet there was no noise. No talking. No crying.

Just breathing.

And above it all, glowing faintly in the darkness, was the number:

8

People woke up screaming.

By the third night, the world was holding its breath.

Hospitals filled with patients suffering from sleep paralysis and panic attacks. Governments issued statements urging calm. Scientists formed emergency panels, running EEG scans and sleep studies across continents. Every brainwave pattern matched. Every report described the same details. The same cold ground. The same silent crowd.

The same number.

7

Something else began to change. People noticed they felt different after waking. Quieter. More reflective. Old arguments seemed pointless. Strangers made eye contact longer than usual, as if searching for reassurance in each other’s faces.

By day four, the number dropped to 6, and the denial collapsed.

Air travel was suspended as pilots refused to sleep. Schools closed. Religions offered explanations—judgment, rebirth, ascension—while skeptics ran out of alternative theories. No one could explain how a dream had synchronized itself across the planet.

And no one could explain the feeling that crept in after each night.

Not fear.

Acceptance.

On the fifth night, when the number became 5, people noticed something new. In the dream, the silhouettes were closer now. Faces clearer. You could recognize loved ones. A mother felt her child’s hand in hers. A man stood beside the brother he hadn’t spoken to in years.

No one spoke, but everyone understood.

This is happening to all of us.

On the sixth morning, the number 4 lingered in people’s minds like a bruise. Markets collapsed. Borders stopped meaning anything. When you know the same ending awaits everyone, there’s no point in pretending you’re separate.

That evening, people gathered. On rooftops. In fields. In streets. Some held candles. Some held hands. Some simply lay on the ground, staring at the sky, waiting for sleep to come.

The dream returned.

3

This time, something shifted.

The darkness above cracked open, just slightly. A thin line of light appeared, stretching across the sky like a wound. The silhouettes stirred—not in panic, but in curiosity. The number pulsed softly, as if breathing.

People woke with tears in their eyes, unable to explain why. They hugged strangers. Forgave old grudges. Called people they thought they had more time to reach.

The night of 2 arrived quietly.

In the dream, the sky opened further, revealing not fire or destruction, but a vast brightness beyond the dark. The ground beneath their feet warmed. The crowd turned—not toward the number, but toward each other.

For the first time, someone spoke.

Not with a voice, but with a feeling that moved through everyone at once:

Whatever happens, we face it together.

On the final night, no one resisted sleep.

The dream came gently.

There was no darkness now. No cold ground. Only a wide horizon of light and the last number, floating peacefully in the air.

1

It faded.

People woke up.

The world was still there. The sun rose. Cities stood. Hearts beat.

But something had ended.

And something had begun.

No one ever dreamed alone again.