How many times each night did she rewrite her life?
Change what happened.
Do things differently.
SAY SOMETHING.
Instead of..

At least three.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight in a futile effort to block out the memories burned into her brain.

She grabbed her laptop and flipped it open. It loaded to the default state: new text document. Her fingers began to flicker across the keyboard to the gently backlit sullen, blood red light.

“Alice sat and watched the storm clouds building.
Each time she went through this scenario, they seem to gather more quickly. More aggressive and brooding.

The sky grew darker, and she watched helplessly as the forest around her began to crumble and decay.
Despite all her abundant power in the lucid-dream world, and even being formidable in this semi-conscious state, all she could do was look on, frozen, as the thick, black, oily substance smothered the ground as it flowed, as it did every night, relentlessly towards her, and she knew she would soon drown it it, as she did every time.

There was a muted thumping sound, as though someone was chopping down a tree, somewhere in the woods.
Deep within her meditative state,Alice looked around, confused. The woods were only dust and black slime, there was no one to be seen.

More thumping, like a knocking noise.
Unable to see the source, she started to stand up to investigate, but found her legs were already trapped by the inky black fluid that was creeping its way up her body.
She screamed and struggled , trying to free herself, momentarily forgetting about the thumps.
Her hands flickered across the keyboard, subconsciously spelling out the message which she read, momentarily disoriented.
“Knock, Knock, Alice!”
She furrowed her brow, re-reading the last line she had entered, and realized her subconscious was telling her something again.
She sucked deeply through her lips in frustration, and removed her headphones.

She growled in frustration. They knew better than to interrupt her at this time of night

To emphasize her annoyance, she flicked an imaginary cigarette butt towards the trashcan in the corner, watching it sail through the air as it missed the bin, bounced, sparked, and faded away.
Her imagination was perhaps the source of her greatest strength.

‘WHAT!!? She called loudly, despite the fact that the loud music was only coming from the head phones around her neck.