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He found himself standing in the middle of a baseball field. In his pajamas. He had no idea how he had gotten there. His last memory was climbing into bed. It felt like only moments ago.

Gripped by the hands of the two best baseball players to ever live. But in the thirteen years he has lived he had even thought of ever holding Babe Ruth and Tony Qwenns hands.  It was almost like he was living a dream. He imagined all the fans in the stands behind him.

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He found himself standing in the middle of the busy street in Santee. There was a shop and went to it.In his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed--- it felt like only minutes earlier.

He was gripping by a sense of happiness. Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other, similar dreams recently. He had smelt the amazing scent of fresh baked cookies. He followed the smell until he got to the bakery. In the distance he heard a car motor getting louder and louder as if it was coming closer to him. Suddenly the car was coming right towards him.

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He found himself by a street and he was in his pajamas  It felt like moments earlier that he had climbed into his bed. He saw a shop and went into it.

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He found himself sitting at a desk in a room, in the heart of a giant building, in his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed- - - it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense of confusion, awed by the smell of pencil shavings, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had similar dreams recently- - always in the cramped up room, always at night. But in the thirteen years, non so real, so vivid as this: he felt a moan from the air conditioner; he smelled erasers; he heard the faint buzzing of a computer behind him.

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He found himself in the middle of a football stadium next to Jerry Rice he’s never meant anyone famous he felt like he has seen him before he was still in his pajamas he wondered how he even got there. His last memory was when he was getting in to his soft bed,He felt like he did that only seconds ago he was amazed on what was happening.He was still confused and tried to figure out what was going on.

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He found himself standing next to the old witch’s clock that he’s seen before in the heart of the a house. In his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was him climbing into bed it felt like only minutes earlier.

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He found himself atop a mountain, in the heart of the forest in his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed- it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a colossal sense of fear, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other, similar dreams recently- always in the forest, always at night. But in the thirteen years, none so real, so vivid as this: He felt a breeze on his face, he smelled smoke not far away, he heard the distant crackle of a fire and the chitter of squirrels.

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The last thing he could remember is the smell of bacon and eggs and the sight of stacked plates and being greeted by a menu he saw a waitress carrying a stack of pancakes and a omelette

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She found herself standing next to her BFF, In the heart of everyone else. In her uncomfortable costume. How she’d gotten here, she was very surprised. Her last memory was being a amateur, but now she was here.

Gripped by a sense of accomplishment, awed by the sight of the G.O.A.Ts, Megan Edwards briefly recalled that she’d had other, similar moments recently,—always on the biggest stage, in the afternoon. But in 13 years, non so scary, so real as this: She felt a breeze on her face; she smelled the sour smell of sweat all around; she heard the audience clapping vigorously and the whistling of happy supporters.

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He found himself standing next to the counter in a store, in the entrance of the Magic Target. In his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed--- it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense of joy, awed by the sigh of toys at night, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other, similar dreams recently--always in the target always at night. But in the thirteen years, non so real, so vivid as this: he felt a breeze on his face; he smelled the wet earth of a flower bed not far away; he heard the distant whine of traffic and the buzz of a motorboat on the lake behind him.

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He found himself standing next to a screen in the mall, in heart in the place where you can do everything. I his comfy clothes. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was in a McDonalds—- it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense relaxation. Megan scales recalled that he had other, similar dreams recently- -always in the mall, always at night. But in thirteen years, non so real, so vivid as this; he felt a breeze on his head;he smelt warm buttery popcorn not far away; he heard people whispering  behind him.

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He found himself standing next to the window staring into the shop, in the heart of the mall. In his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed--- it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense of joy, awed by the sight of the most colorful candy Finn Whitman has ever seen. He briefly recalled that he’d had other, similar dreams recently--always by a window that he stared into with delight. But in the thirteen years he was alive he hadn’t seen such beauty of sort. He imagines the chocolate and caramel taste of a delicious Twix bar, the chewy  Laffy taffies, and the and the hard rock candy.

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He found himself standing next to a Tesla, on the side of the Street. In his pajamas. How he’d gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing from his window -- it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense of panic, by the sight  of the stranger at night, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other, similar experiences recently--always in the street, always at night. But in the thirteen years, non so real, so vivid as this: he felt a breeze on his face; he smelled the strong perfumes of the car close to him; he heard the distant whine of traffic and the hoot of a owl on the tree behind him.

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He found himself standing next to a large stone tomb, in the middle of a fenced off area. In his pajamas. How’d he gotten here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into bed—-it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by the sense of fear, awed by the sight of hundreds of other stone tombs, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other similar dreams recently—always next to the same stone tomb, surrounded by hundreds of others. But in the thirteen years, non so real, so vivid as this: he felt a raindrop on his head; he smelled an unpleasant odor as if something had been rotting not to far away; he heard the distant cry of a crow and the leaves of a tree brushing in the wind.

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He found himself standing outside a window, with cars going up to him and asking for numbers like a number one or two or twelve, they even asked for food like a burger or fries. He didn’t know why but someone behind was asking to hear the things that they said. So he did, at the end of the day, he got paid.

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He found himself standing next to the painting, in the heart of the paintings exhibit. In his pajamas how did he get here, he had no idea. His last memory was climbing into a car- - - it felt like only minutes earlier.

Gripped by a sense of amazement awed by a sight at the amazing paintings at night, Finn Whitman briefly recalled that he’d had other similar dreams recently - - always in the exhibit, always at night. But in thirteen years he smelled the paint of one specific painting not far away; he heard  the distant whine of traffic and the buzz of a motorboat of the lake behind him.

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He went to bed and found him self in the middle of a crowd a ball flew passed him his last memory was him going to sleep. He was happy he wanted to party there was food and drinks. He saw players and he liked there outfits. He wanted one he felt the breeze going passed his face. There where people cheering and saying”you got this” and people whistling.