Staying Alive, Staying Alive…

It’s happening again. That rattling inside my skull — as if someone’s poured a box of screws into my brain and given it a good shake. Then it builds. A vibration spreads outward, rippling through my jaw, my spine, my limbs, my whole being. I know this feeling only too well. This is the threshold. The strange, electric corridor between sleep and wakefulness. The place where logic loosens its grip and something else — something far less reliable — takes over. The gateway. “Oh, here we go,” I mutter, already half-gone. Usually, this is where I rise, drift upwards, peeling away from my body like steam from hot water. Graceful. Predictable. But tonight? Tonight I’m feeling rebellious. Contrary. “Let’s mix it up,” I murmur. Instead of lifting, I let myself fall. And just like that, I’m sinking — straight down into the mattress beneath me. No resistance. No slow descent. Just a sudden, stomach-lurching drop, like I’ve stepped through a trapdoor I didn’t know existed. Darkness engulfs me immediately. Not soft darkness. Not poetic. Just thick, suffocating, absolute black. I keep sinking. Down, down, down — “I can’t see fuck all,” I mutter, my voice sounding oddly distant. Nothing answers. “Right,”I say, a little sharper now. “Let there be light.” I wait. Still nothing. “Now. C’mon… sort it out.” And suddenly — BAM. Light explodes into existence, as if someone’s flipped on a stadium floodlight directly inside my brain. I blink, squinting. “I mean… a bit aggressive, but alright.” I can see. But what I’m seeing makes absolutely no bloody sense. The world around me looks like it’s been turned inside out, shaken violently, and put on a spin cycle for good measure. Angles tilt where they shouldn’t. Colours bleed into one another in ways that feel mildly offensive. Space itself seems to bend and buckle, like it’s had a few too many bevies. It’s dizzying. Disorienting. Slightly rude. I take a steadying breath. “Right then,” I say, hands on my hips. “Let’s go swimming.” Because, obviously. Instantly, the world reshapes itself. I’m standing at the edge of a vast swimming pool, its surface perfectly still, like glass. It sits in the middle of a forest — tall trees hemming it in on all sides, their branches arching overhead like silent spectators. There’s no wind. No birds. Just me. And limbs that have apparently stopped cooperating. “Oh, for—” I try to swim. Nothing happens. My arms drift. My legs lag behind like reluctant accomplices. And then I start to sink. The water closes over my head. There’s no panic. No sharp intake of breath. Just a quiet, observational awareness. “Oh yeah,” I mumble, as water fills my lungs without consequence. “ I can breathe here.” Of course I can. I inhale deeply. It feels wrong, but it works. The water is cool, heavy, but not suffocating. Bubbles drift lazily upwards, completely unbothered by my situation. I sink further. The light fades. The pool stretches on endlessly beneath me, its depth impossible, unnatural. The walls disappear. The bottom never arrives. It becomes something else entirely. A void. A deep, swallowing darkness that feels far older than a swimming pool has any right to be. “Well,” I say into the gloom, “this isn’t much fun.” And just like that — I’m rising again. Pulled upwards by an unseen force, back towards the light. The surface breaks around me with a soft ripple, and I gasp out of habit more than necessity. The forest comes back into focus. Tall. Green. Watchful. I climb out of the pool. Completely dry. “Convenient,” I note. The ground beneath my feet is soft with moss. I start walking. The forest is beautiful in a way that feels slightly staged. Too perfect. Too quiet. Every leaf in place. Every shadow intentional. And then — A whisper. Faint at first. Easy to ignore. Then clearer. “Grow a dick… Grow a dick… Grow a dick…” I stop dead. “… I’m sorry, what?” The whisper threads through the trees, persistent and oddly insistent, like it’s been waiting for me specifically. I roll my eyes. Naughty Amanda. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” No response. Just the whisper. “Honestly,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. “You do pick your moments.” I stand there for a second, considering it. Because that’s the thing about dreams — once the suggestion is planted, it’s already halfway to happening. I sigh. “Oh, go on then.” Immediately, my clothes split and peel away from me, shredding to the ground like discarded skin. And then — Up it pops. A full-grown penis sprouts into existence like a magic beanstalk. I look down, tilt my head slightly. “Well,” I say thoughtfully, “this is fun.” I shift my weight. Experiment. A strange, detached curiosity settles in. “… I mean, I get the appeal.” And then, without another thought, I run. Through the forest. Completely naked. Completely unburdened. Branches whip past me. Leaves crunch underfoot. The air rushes against my skin, sharp and exhilarating. There’s a wildness to it. A freedom. Penis swinging like it's conducting an invisible orchestra. I laugh. Loud, unrestrained, borderline feral. Until — Something catches my legs. I don’t even have time to react before I’m yanked downwards. The ground gives way beneath me, swallowing me whole. Down, down, down — And then — I’m standing again. Fully clothed. Back in my own body. I pause. “… Right.” A quick, cautious check confirms it. All present. All accounted for. Original parts restored. I look around. A street. Familiar, but not quite. Like a place I’ve passed through a hundred times but never really seen. And slung over my shoulder — a mailbag. “Of course,” I sigh. “Work follows me into the astral plane. Brilliant.” I take a step forward — — and wince. A sharp, stinging pain blooms in my bottom lip. “That’s… not ideal.” I raise my hand slowly, fingertips brushing against my mouth. And then — Half of my lip comes away. Just — detaches. Falls neatly into my palm. I stare at it. “…Oh.” I press it gently between my fingers. Warm, spongy, unmistakably mine. The pain intensifies — deep, throbbing, relentless. I run my tongue along what remains — — and another piece comes loose. Clean. Effortless. I catch it before it falls. Because apparently, that’s what we’re doing now. I slip it into my pocket. For later. Naturally. I keep walking. Because what else is there to do? The pain pulses with every step. Up ahead, I climb a short set of steps — — and suddenly, a blur of movement. Monkey. He vaults over a wall with chaotic precision, dragging what appears to be half the street’s recycling behind him. Cans clatter. Bottles jingle. Plastic rattles like an overenthusiastic percussion section. I laugh despite everything. “Oi! What are you doing?” I scramble for my phone, trying to capture it — — but by the time I hit record, he’s gone. Vanished into the hedges, leaving only the distant rattle behind. I lower the phone slowly. “Typical.” Further up the road, an ambulance sits idling. I should walk past, but curiosity gets the better of me. A man lies in the road, motionless. A paramedic crouches beside him, rocking slightly, hands hovering uselessly. “I don’t know what to do… I don’t know what to do…” Over and over. Like a broken lullaby. And then — A song. Clear as day. Ah, ah, ah, ah… staying alive, staying alive… I blink. “… You’ve got to be joking.” I step forward anyway. “It’s the resuscitation song,” I say, as if that explains everything. The paramedic looks at me, utterly blank. “I just need a fag…” they mumble, already fishing in their pocket. “Can you… sort this?” “Me?” “Yeah. With the song.” Right. Of course. I kneel beside the man. And I start singing, pressing rhythmically on his chest. “Ah, ah, ah, ah—staying alive, staying alive—” It feels ridiculous. Completely absurd. And yet — It’s the only thing I remember. From that long, painfully dull first aid course. The one I half-listened to, half slept through. The one I mentally dismissed as a complete waste of time. All of it gone — Except this. This stupid song. I lean in, ready for the kiss of life — — but his eyes snap open. Sharp. Furious. “Get those disgusting lips away from me!” I freeze. “…Bloody charming.” The pain in my lip surges, violent and undeniable. It cuts through everything. I hesitate. Slowly, carefully, I lift my hand to my mouth again — afraid of what I’ll find. And then — I wake. Abruptly. My body jerks slightly, like I’ve been dropped back into it from a height. The room is dark, but familiar. Solid. Real in a way the dream never quite was. My heart thuds in my chest. My mouth aches. A deep, throbbing pain pulses through my bottom lip, sharp enough to make me wince. “Oh, for—” I reach up immediately, fingers pressing gently against it — half expecting it to come away again. It doesn’t. Still intact. Still mine. Just… swollen. Tender. Angry. A dull, pulsing heat radiates from it, persistent and impossible to ignore. I sit up slowly, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like cobwebs. I run my tongue over my lip and hiss slightly. “A cold sore,” I mutter. Of course it is. I let out a quiet, tired laugh. Because somehow, even in the most surreal, chaotic corners of my own mind — there are rules, consequences, things that carry through. And that stupid song… The one I thought was useless. The one I barely paid attention to. That’s the thing that stayed. That’s what surfaced when it mattered. I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. Lip throbbing. Body still buzzing faintly. “Staying alive, staying alive…” I murmur under my breath. And I can’t help but think — Maybe that’s the point of it all. All the chaos. All the nonsense. All the things we think don’t matter. Something lodges. Something lingers. Something always stays. Even when everything else falls apart.