Mario's New Epic Dream Journal of Awesomeness

Originally Posted by Mario92

Sure.

22.12.2009

20 Years to Life (Non-lucid)

NON-DREAM DREAM LUCID

Spooky-ass dream. I started out in this mansion-type place, where my ill grandmother was preparing to die. I was in Morocco, I guess, though it was more of an island setting. My grandma begged to die, pleaded with me that I shoot her. What else could I do? I pulled the trigger.

The dream skipped to the streets of Morocco (which was a surprisingly small town), where I was vacationing with my familiy. We were touring the streets and all that. We were stopped at a traffic light. All of a sudden, a bunch of people came out and started painting the lights with candy. This one old lady was carrying caramel-dipped things that looked really good. She was offering to sell them. One of my obnoxious co-workers, who was also in Morocco apparently, bought one. I, too, got one. I had left my wallet back at the hotel room, and so could not pay properly. Instead, I pulled a fiver out of the big wad of cash I was keeping on me. The money was probably from the books I sold back in real life not too long ago. There was a bit more driving around with my father, almost missing stop lights and such.

The dream skips to this tacky little room. It was all concrete, but the ceiling was painted in bright red checkerboards. There was a big dip toward the middle left of the ceiling, which appeared to be impossible to move. I had been served with my papers for murder. It was a thick packet, and I was waiting for someone to explain it to me. This one kid who had been serving for the past six years on a prisoner ship in the middle of the ocean was also there. He seemed to have certain psychic powers. When I asked why he did not run away, he said that the consequences of being caught would have been far worse.

The dude in charge of my papers came in. He took me aside and explained what all the numbers meant. It looked like I would be serving the maximum sentence for murder (20 years), instead of the 6 years they had marked if I was good. They indicated that I was highly unlikely to get any sort of pardon or sentence cut. I, too, would be imprisoned on a ship. Now I was starting to panic. A risk analysis indicated that my life was over, and I should either a) kill myself, or b) escape.

The scary man left, and my mother walked in. I told her the bad news, and she immediately started talking cost. How much would it cost to start a new life, all that. I told her that I didn't know, but suggested that it would be a good start to hop down to the airport and hop a flight on whatever plane was going out first. She said, "I don't know." There was a bit more grappling, and then the dream ended.