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This dream is from a few weeks ago, but it's really stuck with me. It's extremely odd, but it's worth writing down.
The world had ended, and two of my close friends, Sam and Isabella and I were trying to survive the post-apocalyptic chaos. When I realized we had nearly ran out of food, they volunteered to go retrieve some. We had been hiding in an old abandoned house, which was remarkably well preserved and taken care of. It had winding passageways, antique furniture, stone walls and floors, and had a castle/manor type atmosphere. It was actually quite lovely, and I was glad we had found such a nice place to reside.
The three of us set out to get to Costco, a large store that sells just about everything. My friends and I wandered through the house until we found a hidden bedroom, in which a passageway was. We went through the passageway, which was dark, and I kept trying to convince my friends that we should find another way. I knew what the passageway led to, and was frightened. They inisisted that this way was the safest, as it was hidden, but I knew otherwise.
The passageway led into a bedroom that seemed more like Rapunzel's tower. There was a balcony with large glass doors that opened to a landscape with few trees, and next to an immense canopy bed, a pale boy with blond hair sat, his leg shackled to the bedpost. An array of blankets, pillows and other items littered the floor. I had an overwhelming feeling of knowing him.
My friends seemed shocked to see him, and wanted to be on their way through the passageway, which continued after one had passed through a small door in the opposite wall. The boy looked so fragile and lonely that I paused, and he turned to look at me, his pale eyes searching my face, as if trying to remember something.
"Hi, Nate," I said softly, smiling at him.
"Do you remember me?"
He looked confused, but then nodded, realizing who I was.
I was not afraid of him in the least, though my friends were. I was afraid of the consequences of being in his room. He had done no wrong, but his father had been keeping him locked away, and would surely punish us for visiting his son's prison.
My friends left and continued on to Costco, while I turned back and returned to the house. We left Nate alone, still chained to the bedpost, though it nagged at my conscience and made my heart ache. I was afraid of making his father even more angry, because I knew when he found out we had passed through Nate's room, he would be furious.
I saw my friends enter Costco, which was dark and chaotic. Items and food were scattered about, and shadowy figures, which I knew were other survivors, fought over what remained. Screams and shouts punctuated the blackness, and two men wrestled over some canned soup. A woman quickly ushered her children down an aisle, each of them clutching a box of cereal, in hopes that they would not be assailed.
My friends somehow avoided this, and were squatting down next to a jumble of soda bottles, some of which were still in the wholesale boxes they had came in, others scattered on the concrete. While two other survivors fought tooth and nail for a box of Oreos nearby, my friends calmly discussed which kind of soda they should take. One stated that she preferred peach, while the other was leaning towards grape. It was almost comical to watch them, amidst the chaos and terror, discussing which flavor of a nonessential food item they should choose.
When they had made their choice, they brought back their spoils, beaming and showing me armfuls of grape soda. I was less than pleased, trying to get them to understand that we could not live off of soda.
They eventually agreed to go back as long as they could keep the soda, and I insisted that they not take the passageway again. They obliged and went outside, walking to the store and chattering cheerfully.
When the balcony of Nate's room, which appeared to be floating in the air, suspended by the passageways, came into sight, I knew something was very wrong. Nate's father was standing on the balcony with a shotgun in his hands. He screamed at my friends, yelling and cursing, and as he did so, a horde of giraffes came out of the trees and attacked them, killing Sam. It was all very sudden, and quite horrifying.
My other friend, Isabella, who had survived, fled and returned to the house, where I was waiting. She was calm and collected, and when I asked where Sam was, she indifferently replied that she did not know. She did not seem sad or shaken in the least, but when I figured out that my other friend had been killed, I was grief stricken and began to sob uncontrollably. She apparently felt nothing after watching her close friend being brutally murdered by animals with hooves the size of dinner plates. I woke up, crying, and was relieved to discover that my friend was not actually dead, because it had all been a dream.