Things to Run Away From Really Fast

A dream occurs on two levels of reality. In one, the cast and crew of Supernatural go about their daily business of making an awesome TV show. In another, I go about my daily business of building houses. This gets confusing when suddenly I'm Misha Collins, calmly vacuuming up sawdust in the basement while a highly amusing PA briefs me on whatever they're doing next. Also, a suspended ceiling puts itself together in the writer's room and the baseboards I've been staring at for the last few days drift in and out of existence at eye-level.

shift

I'm in a den, or a living room, and I think this was a mall a second ago. Everything is in dark shades of brown and black. I'm sitting on a brown leather couch facing a wide-screen TV, and along the opposite wall is a set of dark-stained table and chairs. Beyond the table is another room, which is completely white. Right now, it might be a kitchen, but it's about to turn into a slaughterhouse.

I have my laptop open on the couch, though I'm not paying much attention to what I'm looking at. I move over to the table when a ten-year-old boy wants to flip through the channels on the TV, looking for his favorite cartoon. When I look back, he's pulling up a page on another laptop, which is a list of his favorite cartoons, put together by his dad. A static image of one of the characters shows up on a projector behind the couch, and I start drawing it.

It's later. A team of vigilantes/ex-minions have found out what's really going into the meat made by this factory. They/we are standing around the owner, backing him into the white room. The boy* is wearing some kind of Kickass-style costume like the others in the room, and is staring at his father with an incredibly detached expression.

*I wouldn't worry about the little sociopath. I get the feeling that the vigilantes are all puppets on a string to him.


Practically the Antichrist.

Two men grab the owner and force him toward the wall. He's shouting at them and struggling to get away, but when his back hits the wall, it latches onto him and forces him down a tube. I drift through the wall, and I can see the human sized plastic tunnel he's trapped in. Pistons are forcing the right side of his body, as he's alive and screaming, against the meat grinder. His right arm, part of his leg, and the edge of his scalp have been torn apart by the machine when I see his expression shift, angry but resigned, and the machine eats into his brain.

He probably wishes he'd designed the machine to kill its victims less horrifically, I muse. A straight-razor, perhaps? The machine rearranges itself on my whim, and I wonder if cutting the throat upside-down or right-side-up would be more effective.

Three women are standing in the same room, which, maybe, is supposed to be a different place entirely? They talk about the dead owner's eldest daughter, who has sworn revenge on us/them for killing her father, his right hand man, his lieutenants, the captain who exported the shipments, the cleaning lady, and possibly me, considering I'm short of a body at the moment. Also, for kidnapping her little brother, who I'm half-sure started the coup anyway.

They laugh a little and say they have to get back to camp, so they jump out of the building and land on the ice of a half-frozen river, and start speeding down it as if they're on a slide. I have to keep nudging them closer to shore so their momentum won't carry them out onto the middle of the river, which is slushy and wouldn't hold their weight.

One person crashes into the slush anyway. No one pays attention, and I have no idea if s/he gets out alive.

The women arrive at a rocky shore where a bunch of colourful tents are set up. No one brought chairs, so someone fetches pillows for the half-frozen trio to sit on, and blankets to keep them warm. I, still incorporeal, follow the guy who gets them and see a whole pile of pillows lying on the ground.

Oh, and someone's getting married.

Soylent Green. Scare Factor: 3.5. Reaction: Lucidity, you escape me. And the meat grinder thing was pretty fucked up, too.

ETA: Oh! I know! I know! It was green, and had a giant lizard's head and sharp teeth that changed direction to spiral inwards and then fan out, and I knew I was dreaming because all of my dreams are just that fucking insane.

I can feel it nudge up against me, feel its scales and warm breath as it bumps its nose against my shoulder, and I'm not afraid because I know this is a dream...

And that's all I remember.