ErraticHopper

I love Sailor Moon. Does this count as a scary dream? I wouldn't call it a nightmare...

I am Tsukino Usagi (the main character of Sailor Moon) - appearance-wise, at least. It might be better to say I'm alternately watching her and being her. She has one sister and a father who is very controlling and doesn't let her go outside. But one evening, somehow, she manages to leave. As I'm walking down the street away from the apartment, I see my father outside a pub on the adjacent street. He is talking and drinking in the warm light and doesn't seem to have noticed me, so I continue walking at the same speed, head down, to avoid attracting his attention. As soon as I'm past the street corner and out of his view I run as fast as I can into town. It's dark out, and there aren't many people about, however the night this time has a dark brown sky rather than a blue one. It reminds me of an old photograph and imparts a sense of finality.

Some time later. I can see inside the apartment while not being there. Usagi's father is there seething over her disappearance while her mother frets, her younger sister (who looks a lot like another character) sits on the floor at his feet. I get the feeling that they are all afraid of him. He vows to find Usagi and bring her back.

Usagi goes to hide in various places. I see her inside a closed shop, a single dim light overhead. Her wristband glows (when did that appear?) and some waves radiate downwards from the lamp. I know instantly that they are transmitted by her father and he now knows where she is. I feel a terrible foreboding.

I don't remember much after that. I feel that she ends up being caught but continues to plan another escape.

I'm not sure if this dream is scary so much as unsettling. It's been years since I had a proper nightmare.

For a moment I see myself: a tall man, dressed in black and with black hair. I'm not myself in this dream, I am him, seeing everything through his eyes. I don't feel like a girl anymore.

A street at night. It's wide enough, paved evenly, though the slabs vary in colour and shade. The streetlamps give off a low, cool white light that's like moonlight. The sky above is dark blue without a single star.

In the middle of the two-lane road is an industrial-looking island, a tangle of thick pipes and ducts that come out of the ground and go back in again, twisting over one another. It's confined into a strict rectangular patch of ground. In the light the curves of the metal are glinting dully. I walk with quiet but sure footsteps onward, past railings and railings and railings, black and gleaming along the length of the street and around the corner. As I near it, eerie music starts playing from one of the corner houses. The house is purplish-grey and has three stories and a basement. On the first floor only the house's corners are missing and covered with a thick dark grey mesh. From here a bright purple mist is wafting out from inside. A purple van in front of the house reads in bubble letters above the windscreen: 'Ultra Shelibatology'.

I pass the house and walk through many more residential streets, across main roads; everything is dark and cool and quiet. Until when passing a garden square I catch sight of a man inside, watching me. He has light hair sticking up in tufts and his whole face is obscured in the dark except his staring eyes. Our eyes meet. Another person walks by in front of me.