It all began with a solid "What the hell?" premise. I had somehow signed up for a reality show that felt like Fear Factor got drunk, passed out in a haunted house, and woke up with a magical hangover. A daredevil competition with a mystical twist, because clearly my subconscious believes trauma is best served with a hint of sorcery.

Now, let's get one thing straight. In real life, I am not what you'd call survival material. I'm the kind of person who would politely hand themselves over to the monster in a horror movie and ask if we can skip the chase scene. I believe in efficiency. My survival instincts are... somewhat decorative.

So imagine my surprise when Dream-Me suddenly turned into a gladiator with the combat skills of Black Widow and the wardrobe of a medieval runway disaster. Shiny, clinking armor that screamed "fashion victim" more than "warrior queen." Dream logic said: Function? Nah. Let's make it sparkle and burn.

Standing beside me: a celebrity. I won't name names, but let's just say this guy had a bravery of a Shih Tzu and the emotional fortitude of a Disney princess in distress. He was clearly cast for drama, not survival. Iconic casting, really.

The set? Oh, just your average nightmare terrain of overgrown jungle meets snake sanctuary meets "Well, let's not go there".

Snakes everywhere, cobras doing yoga in corners, Pythons slithering down railings like theme park rides, rattlesnakes drum solos on repeat, and Black Mambas, because apparently my subconscious said, "Let's make it spicy."

As if that wasn't enough, my documentary-loving brain had thrown in a few taipans for good measure, you know, just the world's most poisonous snake casually hanging out like it's part of a spa retreat.

Everything was covered in vines that looked suspiciously snakelike. It was a full-on scaly fashion show, and I was not here for it.

First task was to climb the wall.

Of course. Because nothing says "fun" like scaling a death trap covered in slithering danger noodles.

But wait, the wall wasn't vertical. No, it was slanted, like it couldn't even commit to being an obstacle. A lazy diagonal slope crawling with snakes. Gravity issues? Maybe snakes hate it as much as I hate studying it.

I took a deep breath. Grabbed a vine. Prayed it wasn't alive. Began climbing.

The wall, naturally, was crawling with snakes. I started climbing with my armour clinking and my brain screaming. The celebrity kept whining about his outfit while snakes were hissing in surround sound. And I was contemplating whether I could sue my subconscious for emotional damage.

To my credit, I was doing okay. I even managed to channel some dream-strength and pretend I was into this whole warrior vibe. The celebrity, however, kept begging for help like we were in a two-person film I never auditioned for.

I tossed him a vine. He dropped it. Butterfingers. Tried again. Still no. Four attempts later, he finally clutched it.

Eventually, I made it to the top, limbs aching, dignity intact-ish, only to find the rooftop crawling with even bigger snakes. Great. We upgraded to next level.

In the distance, I spotted salvation: a glowing staircase, lit like the final round of Mario Kart: Venom Edition. I bolted. Dodged. Leapt. Engaged full dream-Jackie Chan mode. I was two steps away from sweet, sweet victory when -

"Help!"

Oh, COME ON.

I turned. There he was. My celebrity co-contestant, still flopping around in the pit of snakes like he thought this was Bigg Boss: Jungle Panic theme.

I took the loudest, most theatrical sigh of my dream life.

Now, because I'm a lucid dreamer, and possibly a benevolent deity in my own REM cycle. I decided to fix it. With a flick of subconscious willpower, I cleared the snakes. Poof. Snake-be-gone. I am the storm. I am the pest control hotline.

I strolled back casually like it was Monday and I'd just logged off from work.

"Let's go," I told him.

He stared at me. "How did you do that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just shut up."

(I'm so cool when I'm asleep.)

Dragged him out. Led us to the stairs. Pressed the internal "wrap it up" button on this dream. I'd had enough serpentine nonsense for one night.

Challenge: complete.

Snakes: defeated.

Celebrity: emotionally scarred.

Me: winner, legend, slightly out of breath.