Visions in the Dark

I had this dream during an afternoon nap. Though I refer to Shari as a friend in this dream we are, in fact, not friends anymore and have not been for some time.


I am following my friend Shari down the road, she is looking unusually radiant. For some reason she is carrying a large set of industrial pliers. We ran into each other on the street and for some reason Shari is insistant that I come and see her new place. Though her apartment exists within the city, the three storey, red brick building itself is surrounded by lush trees and thick, green grass. I wonder at how she can afford a apartment in such a nice building, but when Shari opens the front door and invites me inside, I realize that the entire building is one apartment. The inside is very modern and beautifully decorated, and everything looks brand new. Shari's mother and sister are sanding and painting the veranda windows just outside the kitchen, and they look confused when they see me, as they know that Shari and I are no longer friends. I am glad to notice that Shari's father is no where to be seen, and the three of them seem genuinely happy to have that abusive jerk out of their lives.

There are tools laying in the yard, their handles freshly painted bright oranges and bright reds. Shari asks if I can help working on the place and even though I cannot see anything that needs to be done, I agree. I know that I do not like Shari anymore, but I am happy to help her out if it makes her continue to feel happy, and she truly does seem happy and carefree in her new apartment. Still holding the set of pliers, Shari heads upstairs to work on something on the second floor. I don't really know what to do and just kind of stand around with my hands in my pockets for a while. I eventually notice something loose on the kitchen ceiling and grab a freshly painted wrench from the lawn outside. I get orange paint on my hands as I work, but when I have completed the task, I try and smooth out the paint on the tool's handle to make it look like it had not been smeared. I then place the wrench back where I found it.

When Shari comes back down the stairs, I point out what I fixed and how I smudged the paint on her orange handled wrench. She is not amused and becomes all indignant, even after I apologize and offer to repaint the handle. She claims that "it is ruined now," and there is no point in trying to salvage it. I feel that she is being unreasonable and is trying to guilt trip me into feel bad, so I not-so-politely tell her to do something obscene to herself and start to walk away. Shari then screams at me that I did not deserve to see her apartment and I just laught at her and respond that while her apartment is nice, she does not deserve it have it.


The dream ends there.

This dream I had was long but because I did not write it down when I awoke I have forgotten most of it. The part that I do remember took place somewhere in between the middle and the end.


A lean, young man with frizzy brown hair and I are in a small hotel room. The door is to my right, the bed in front of me and a narrow window to my left. There is a wooden nightstand with a small white lamp on one side of the bed but other than that the room is empty. The translucent sheer curtains of the window are pulled back and tied in a knot to keep them open. The carpet is a garish lime green and the bed's duvet is a dark green with pale yellow sheets underneath. Everything appears clean and orderly.

The young man is not someone I recognize from waking life and for some reason we are standing near the window having an argument. I cannot remember what the argument was about but I turn my back on him out of frustration. Before I can go anywhere the guy pulls a gun out of his pants, grabs me in a headlock with his right arm and holds the gun the my left temple. He screams and spits in my ear (but I cannot remember about what) and I am too startled to move. He stops yelling for a moment and his grasp slackens just enough that I can squirm out of the headlock. The young man does not make any attempt to stop me from doing so and lowers his weapon. He silently stares out of the window and I stare at him for a while.

I make a move to leave but the young man turns around and points the gun at me again, saying that I "can never leave". I was not afraid that he was going to shoot me, rather that he was going to hurt himself in some way. I sat down on the end of the bed and asked him to give me the gun, which he had again lowered to his side. He shakes his head, refuses to hand it over, leans against the window frame, crosses his arms and stares at the carpet. For a while the young man does not talk to me or even look at me and I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling frustrated and bored.

The young man suddenly begins pacing back and forth in front of the window, waving the gun around wildly and yelling at the top of his lungs about whatever is upsetting him. Since he does not address me or look at me as he rages I think for a moment that he has forgotten about my presence. I contemplate making a break for the door but the desire to take the guy's gun is stronger than wanting to leave for some reason. I edge myself to the end of the bed, closest to the window, and watch the young man's movements carefully.

I stand up slowly and ask him if there is anything I can do for him. He does not answer but he stops yelling and waving the gun but continues to pace back and forth. His eyes are opened wide and he sweating. When I see my chance I grab his left wrist (of which hand is holding the gun) with my left hand and pin it against the wall with all my bodyweight. The young man could have easily punched me or grabbed me in a headlock with his free hand, but he does not. Instead he uses his right hand to grab the wrist of my left hand (that has his left hand pinned) and tries to pull himself free of my grasp.

Wrapping my right hand around the barrel of the gun I succeed in wiggling it from his grasp when I dig the nails of my left hand as hard as I can into his wrist. The guy backs off to the far corner of the room, crosses his arms protectively across his chest and sulks. I toss the gun on the bed and leave the hotel room. The young man does not try to come after me.