Dream (oh man, is it really about dreams? Dreams are so cliché)

The following is a dream.

You're in a typical setting: the middle of the woods, or your childhood school, or something. Things are going as usual. Your pants are gone, or you're running from a monster. But this time, the script isn't being followed. You trick the monster into falling into a pit and the schoolroom starts turning into a sex dream. Things are going great, and you feel really, really good. Euphoric. Then a pure black human-shape enters the door to the classroom and scans the room. It appears to affix on you, and approaches with a certain intimidating air of purpose. The chasing dream is back, and you are now pursued by the black thing (which is really just black. No depth, no scale of color). You continue running without your pants on, but come on, you know it's no use. The thing catches up to you, but instead of waking up like you normally do at this point, it keeps going on, dreadfully. The shape picks you up from where you've tripped and tortures you. With the pain, it takes you a moment to figure out what it's doing to you. It looks like it's kind of punching you, but its inky blackness is leaking like tendrils into your body. It keeps wailing and wailing on you, and you can feel impacts, but also some horrible pain like your soul is being dragged out through tiny pinpoints in your chest. It's excruciating, but you can't even pass out. After ages of this torture, the black thing drops you, and you gasp. The pain recedes somewhat, and then you finally wake up.

That's how Phil woke. Groaning, clutching his body, he rolled over and over and fell out of his bed, landing with his back on an empty cup, which caused him to wince and come to sense. That day, he wouldn't feel very good. Something clouded his brain, and he called work to tell them he wasn't coming in because he apparently had too much to drink last night and got in a brawl.