Letting the Rappers Rap

Tee stirred slowly before the pure white light surrounding him suddenly snapped him into consciousness. His eyes darted around seeing only white, white, WHITE! He considered himself a relatively light sleeper, but he must have been out cold to miss a location change like this one.

T stood, wiping away a film of slobber that had collected around the corner and side of his mouth. EVERYthing was white, and right about now, he was having a hard time processing what was happening. It was dead silent. He felt utterly alone, a drop in a sea of blank. Gone and forgotten. He felt a strong wave of dread all of a sudden. Usually, when he felt like this, he'd reach for his...

Headphones

There they were, the bulky things wrapped around the nape of his neck like they usually were. Funny, he could have sworn they weren't there before. But he was forgetful, and often clumsy. He may have just forgotten. Another thought coursed through his mind, and reaching in his right pocket T found that oh so dependable slim rectangular prism. Sliding his fingers across the screen, connecting the dots to form, wouldn't you guess it, a T. The smartphone unlocked and T was greeted once more to his home screen, the skyline of Night City, a fictional sprawling metropolis in a fictional world of cybernetic sin. He quickly disregarded this, he had seen it too many times to think anything of it and was extremely preoccupied at the moment with trying to occupy himself.

Finding the Google Music app, T now scrolled down his music library, looking desperately for something to drown out this silence. Anything would do, and T settled on his go-to song, 10 Feet by late rapper Juice Wrld. It was his favorite song once upon a time, but the holder of that title changed quite frequently for T.

Allowing himself to breathe for just a moment, T recited the lyrics of the first bit of the song,

You make me feel so primal, that's what I am, I'm just a man.

Once Juice started rapping, T stopped, and for the first time since he had unlocked his phone, took in his surroundings.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." T mumbled, he had seen how white everything was before, but somehow it was only now sinking in.

Where am I? How do I get out of here?

Alone again. The music was a bittersweet comfort, but he needed his eyes to be lied to as well. And maybe something else to bother himself with.

T looked down as he watched an orange ball with slim black stripes bounce once before settling to a stop. Okay, he was forgetful, and often clumsy, but he couldn't have had it that bad. This ball just materialized in front of him. He thought about it, and it appeared. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but he couldn't imagine any other way the orange ball sitting in front of him could be where it was when it most definitely wasn't before.

"I'm fucking dreaming." T then said, a smile growing on his face as if it was all making sense now. It had to be right? This was one vivid ass dream by far, and as far as he was aware, T had never had a lucid dream in his entire life.

As the word 'lucid' crossed his mind, T though back to his best friend, Merrell Green, otherwise known as Lucid, that was his YouTube name after all. They were partners, or at least they would be once they actually started their channel. Once he woke up they would definitely have to get on that. But now, he had free reign.

"Merrell would love to have a lucid dream about basketball."

T thought, picking the ball up. Well, now he needed a hoop. Turning, T spotted a 9-foot pole in the distance, and jogged towards it, leisurely dribbling on the way there. Now T was no James Harden, no Lebron, no Kyrie Irving, hell, he nearly lost the ball once on the way there and had only just enough control over the rock to keep it close to him, but long story short, T was far from some kind of basketball master. Reaching the goal, T looked around and thought how nice it would be if this were an actual court. Looking down, there it was, 94 by 50 feet of buffed, polished, and painted wood, contrasting heavily with the white void. But why not go further? His mind went to something he had probably seen in an NBA 2k game somewhere, as the court changed from a basic brown to an assortment of blacks and reds, making an elaborate image on the court surface, one that could only be fully appreciated from a birds-eye view, but nevertheless satisfied T.

Trees and grass sprouted up around, and within moments this blank canvas of a location looked like a part with a basketball court smack dab in the middle of it. This creation didn't go out much further than the court, but it didn't matter to T now, as he began to go to work dribbling this way, crossing that way, step-back, and letting loose on the basket. He missed, what did he expect, but he kept going, putting up shots all the while.

Just then, the song came to an end, and rather than let the next one play, T slid his headphones down back to their resting place around his neck. He thought about having speakers here, feeling it would help the atmosphere a bit if there were some sound actually being played into the air, he wasn't sure why but it just felt different, and who would he bother with his music in his own dream after all? With a turn, there they were, giant subwoofers nearly as tall as he was, one for each corner of the court. And with not more than a thought of how convenient it would be, they all connected seamlessly to his phone. Sliding the device out of his black jogger pockets, T scrolled through his playlist once more.

But this is a dream, right?

T stood there and wondered if perhaps he could find some hidden aspect of himself through his collection of music somehow. Closing his eyes, T scrolled blindly before clicking the screen, and just then music started playing.

Son, you know why you the greatest alive?

Why Dad?

'Cause you came outta my balls, N****!! Ha Ha Ha!

T chuckled at the prospect of this song being the one that was meant to reflect his inner subconscious.

"I don't know how I feel about that..." He said out loud, turning the volume all the way up and letting the rappers rap, before firing off yet another shot at the basket.