[ WP ] You have the ability to bring stuff back from your dreams into reality , but only if your `` dream-self '' is holding them in your hands at the same time you get woken up . Things like a burger , a cool sword or even a precious jewel . However , today you wake up , and can only say `` Uh oh ... ''

My name is Husain, and I have been dreaming about many things for decades of my life. I was beaten by my mom for not saluting the Large Donut in The Sky, I won a grand prize to see a cockfight in Antarctica, and other nonsensical dreams. 
 
 Since five years ago, whenever I woke up while holding something in my dreamworld, I am also holding it in reality. I once dreamed of having a cake for my birthday, and I enjoy red velvet cake that. I once dreamed about getting a ticket, and to my surprise, I have to pay the ticket, because I supposedly ram a traffic light and a car dangling by the power lines. It is odd why I decided to pay, maybe because I hate facing the court, as a victim or as a criminal. 
 
 And to my horror, it is also true today. 
 
 `` Die, Maisarah! You brought this on yourself!'' I shouted as we exchange fists high on the stratosphere. 
 
 `` You have no idea what your actions will bring you, Husain! You will destroy us all!'' My wife is somehow a supervillain, trying to'inoculate the world against the flu to end all human flus', in her own words. 
 
 I admit, I am enjoying this. I have no idea fistfighting is my fetish. I punched her pretty face, she punched my groin. I choked her, and she suckerpunched me. But it all come to an end. 
 
 Maisarah is falling feet first to slam her stillettos at my face. I deftly rolled away from the attack, and punched her heart clean through. In shock, I realised what I had just done. I jolted awake, to hear the soft murmur of Maisarah's voice, `` Sayang...''. 
 
 I gasped in horror. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck... 
 
 My tears well up. I want to wail as loudly as I can, but I can only whimper. I apologise to her profusely, while she weakly moves her mouth in protest. If she forgives me, I do n't deserve it. If she curses me, well am I fucking cursed. 
 
 I look at my left palm, the hand that I used to punch her heart out. It still beats in my hand, a small bit of nerves pushing the muscles to do its job when it is uselessly disconnected from my wife's body. I do n't know what to do, but one. 
 
 I must face the law. I killed my wife, there is no doubt about it. It's pointless to cry about it. I reached for my smartphone. `` Hello, 999?'' 
 
 I pressed 2. `` Hello, how can I help you?'' 
 
 `` Please come to my house, I have killed my wife.'' I provided the address. She sounds unperturbed by this. Fifteen minutes later, the police arrives. I place my right hand on my head, letting my left hand stay in my wife's body. 
 
 *** 
 
 It's been twenty years. I wait for my execution date. Many things come out of my hand as I dream. Shovels, pickaxes, cakes, poisonous snakes one day when I dreamt of dying in a snake pit like Ragnar Lothbrok. My country enjoys making their convicts suffer, and so is my mental state. 
 
 But one day, I feel the soft caress of Maisarah. She was young, like the day I first met her in university. She asked me about directional derivatives, and I tell her all I know. Soon we tell each other a lot of things. A few flashes later, I know her, biblically. 
 
 `` Husain, when your hand is my heart, you must know, I am forgiving you.'' I smiled at her sweet words. Our hands are holding each other. I do not realise that my eyes have opened. There she is, lying on top of me, naked and beautiful, as the day before she died at my hands. 
 
 `` AAAAHHHHHH!!!'' I shouted, shoving her off. My shouts grow louder and louder. What is happening? Why is she here? Why ca n't I die yet? Who am I? 
 
 *** 
 
 The guard on that day recounted what he saw. He saw a young woman in a cell with the convict. She had no identification with her. But her memories matched 100 % with the victim of the homicidal case that the man will be executed for. The case that is well closed, had to be reopened. 
 
 The case is very odd, and both the former judge residing on the case, and the new judge appointed, ca n't agree whether Husain is really guilty of not. The High King, having heard of this news, grant him a pardon on account of the abnormal circumstances of the case, and after being proven that he could magically bring things by his hands, and not have it by sleepwalking or sleepstealing. 
 
 As for my father, Husain, he is a senile gibbering old man, living with a beautiful woman half his age. As her son, I tried asking her about how I came to be, since obviously he can no longer know her. All she said, `` He dreamed of you, of course.'' 
 
 I dreamt about how my father taught me how to ride a bike. Hah, a senile old man helping me to ride bikes. I woke up as I smiled at the thought. My right hand is holding the handle of a bike on a bike. Oh shit. 

