My mother always intended to give me the journal herself. I know she did, because my father told me she did. I had fifteen long, good years with her before she passed. Car accident. There was nothing we could do. And on that day, I read it, and knew the truth. I cherished the truth. The truth became what moved me forward.

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I believed my mother. I believe everything in her journal to be true, even if she said it wasn't. But it is only part of the story. There are other pieces that need to be examined to see the full picture, and I have gathered the next one for you to uncover. Hospital records, from the doctor who treated her while in her coma.

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The doctor was a good man, but at first oblivious to the real cause of my mother's coma. It was not his fault, this is beyond what science can explain. Or at least I believe. 

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When I sleep, I now have visions of the storm. Visions of the Dream coming for me. I welcome its embrace, as we all should, and I welcome the knowledge it will impart on to me. My mother only scratched the surface of its potential. But I know my time to spread this word is limited. 

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He worked to save her but down the rabbit hole the doctor did tumble. In search of knowledge of the world beyond worlds.

 

Read his records. 

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Be wary of the Dream, but do not be afraid of it.

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-Editor