Thread: Oneironut's Dream Journal

Intersea Hwy
Friday, December 08, 2006

The dawn wind is especially biting at the end of the pier, a hundred feet up and a quarter mile from shore. Eric and I stand close at the railing, huddled beneath our heavy coats and hoods, quietly reminiscing about the childhood years when we were best friends.

The turbulent water below is clear as glass, and I notice a shape moving just beneath the surface. At first I think it’s a shark, but then I see that it is a whale, a massive beast with marbled blue-gray skin, gliding slowly with the current. Hundreds of other whales trail behind the first. Then come the sharks, sleek silver torpedo shapes darting through the water, spinning to expose their bone white bellies, circling the whales but not attacking. The orcas follow, lined up in orderly ranks like an army on the march, orcas of every size, each one with a unique pattern of black and white skin coloration.

I look to the north where these creatures are coming from, and I can’t see an end to the line.

Eric and I watch this mass migration in silence, awed by its beauty and frightened by its implications.

A Good Night's Rest
Saturday, December 09, 2006, 3:15 a.m.

It’s a few hours before sunrise, and I haven’t slept much at all. I lay curled up in a ball with no covers, and my body aches no matter what position I try to rest in. After a few moments of pointless tossing and turning, I open the rear passenger door and crawl out of the backseat of my car.

The concrete is ice cold beneath my bare feet. Shivering, I do a little hop skip dance to the open garage door and stare out at the dark and silent street of a neighborhood I don’t live in anymore. I just know there was a good reason for trying to spend my nights in my garage, but damned if I can think of it now.

I see the faint glow of approaching headlights from down the street. A big black pickup truck drives in front of my house and starts to slow. Its windows are tinted so I can’t see the driver, and there’s a bulky object covered with a plastic tarp in the rear bed. I suddenly become very awake and alert. This must be what I was camping out here for. Now what am I supposed to do? Am I ready for this?

I feel both relief and disappointment when the truck continues past my house and turns into the driveway next to mine. Just the neighbor. Must be drunk, too, because he starts his turn late, hops the curb, and drives over half of his yard before pulling into his garage.

Ah, to hell with this! I don’t care if I had the best reasons in the world for doing this, I’m going to go sleep in my own bed like a normal person. I stab the button for the garage door and go inside. Now if only I could remember exactly where my bedroom was in this place…

Hey there.

Finally got the time to relax and check out your dream journal. Lovely batch of dreams you've got so far. And your writing is even lovlier. Reading each dream was like reading a mini novel.

Hey Vex, thanks for visiting and for the kind comments. I've been playing with fiction since fourth grade and tend to turn most things I write into a story. Those grocery lists are a bitch to get right.

Cheers!

Something in the Water
Sunday, December 10, 2006, 2:39 a.m.

I’ve been in the ocean for hours, diving beneath the waves or letting the swells carry me up until I catch some air. I’m starting to tire and decide it’s time to head on in. I look for Eric and see him swimming a hundred feet away. He shows no sign of quitting. The water is waist-deep and the current is strong, so I have a difficult time making my way to shore. I see a large number of people entering the water, and somehow the sight reminds me of Jaws. Sharks…and I’m in waist-deep water. I panic and rush to get out of the ocean, not relaxing until the water is down to my ankles. Let’s see you get me now, I think.

Back on shore, I have no idea where the rest of our group is. The sand is literally covered with sunbathers, ice chests, and beach umbrellas. I’ve been in the ocean so long I could have drifted up or down the coast a ways. I slowly walk along the shore until I find our spot. The rest of the group consists of Eric’s mother, his younger brother Neil, and a woman I don’t recognize who has two little daughters.

At first I think Neil is just dozing and getting some sun, but I look closer and see that he looks very sick. His skin is pale and waxy, and he’s twitching and moaning weakly. Eric’s mother starts asking me how I feel among other things, but her speech gradually becomes a garbled mess. I pick out a word that sounds like “salmonella”, or at least it starts with “s” and ends with “la.” I start to get afraid that I’ll catch the sickness too, that maybe there is something in the water that’s going to infect us all. But I feel just fine…better than fine, in fact. My swim has left me strong and invigorated.

I look at Eric and Neil’s mother, and instead of worry or concern I see only rage in her expression. Her voice is still garbled, but it’s getting louder and angrier. The other woman holds her daughters close to her and glares at me in silence. They think I’m the cause of it, that somehow I’m spreading this sickness. I’m even more frightened than before, because they just might be right.

Something in the water, I thought before. And I was in the water for a long, long time.

I agree with Vex Kitten that you have a wonderful writing style.

And you have interesting dreams too. I especially liked your ocean/whale dreams.

I have always loved my whale dreams because I have always wanted to see whales close up in real life, and in each whale dream I am thinking I am finally getting my chance.

Anyway, keep it up. I'll enjoy reading more.

Hi Twoshadows, thank you for the nice compliments. It really pleases me to know that somebody's reading and enjoying the work. Makes it easier, too.

I love ocean dreams also, probably even more so now that I don't have so much as a drop of ocean water within 500 miles of me. As far as I can remember, this was the first time whales have made a significant appearance in my dreams; usually it's just sharks, especially the infamous "great white in the swimming pool." I'd really like to see dolphins, though. Maybe I'll get lucky tonight now that I'm going to hit the hay with dolphins on my mind.

Take care!

I only remember an amusing fragment from last night's dreams. I was in trouble and calling out for help from Superman, only to discover that he now operated like a business (complete with storefront) and had too much of a backlog to help me in time. Must be difficult to find good staff for a gig like that.

This afternoon I'll post a second full dream from Sunday that I didn't have time to write up, a dark little bit of petty revenge.

A Lesson in Humility
Sunday, December 10, 2006

Unseen and unheard, I arrive at the high school campus in my own unique way. The storm is already dissipating but I can see the next front approaching rapidly from the mountains. I don’t have much time.

It’s in between classes and the schoolyard is full of students milling about. I zip up my black windbreaker and blend into the crowd. It doesn’t take long to find who I’m looking for. He comes swaggering along with his retinue, corn-fed muscle and homecoming king good looks hiding the cruel arrogance underneath. I have no idea who he is, but he’s definitely going to be the one.

I abruptly step in front of my guy, all smiles, and say “I bet I’m stronger than you.”

He and his friends are already moving around me, eyeing me with the amused contempt usually reserved for a little dog that’s piddled all over itself. My guy needs some motivation. He suddenly finds himself eye to eye with Ben Franklin as I dangle the bill before him. The wager is made. The wind starts to pick up.

We sit facing each other at a wooden picnic table, arms locked and ready to wrestle. He goes for a quick victory, probably hoping to impress his buddies by sending the skinny kid flying, but my arm doesn’t move. Literally doesn’t move so much as a millimeter. I can’t even feel his efforts. His face is turning an unhealthy shade of purple, though, and I realize I’m falling out of character, so I let my arm slowly sink to the right and pretend to struggle in a performance that won’t win me any awards.

The fading sunlight and howling wind signals the storm’s arrival. Too bad…I was enjoying myself. I quickly swing my arm over to the left, holding back just enough to keep from breaking the picnic table—and my guy’s arm—in half. As he and his friends stare in mute shock, I casually mention that I’ll have to come back another time for my winnings.

Just as the rain starts to fall, I unzip my black windbreaker. It blows open from the wind, begins to grow and spread. I spiral up into the air like a dark bird rising on a thermal. My guy’s friends are already screaming and running across the schoolyard, but he just sits there staring and cradling his arm as I depart the way I came.

Here are this morning's fragments, with a full dream entry coming this afternoon. The recall is improving; this is the first time I've been able to remember at least a few details from most of my dreams instead of just one or two.

1 - Attending a classic video game convention. The designers are playing their own games and they stink at them.

2 - Lounging on a grassy hill with most of my friends from high school. One of them is trying to hit a large wooden ball up the hill with a golf club.

3 - Facing off with a mobster who has taken the form of an old book (WTF???) I manage to get a hold of his gun, although I'm not sure how he would have used it on me if I hadn't.

4 - Me vs. a couple dozen toughs in a nondescript corridor. I win.

5 - A series of still images of Sylar (the villain from Heroes) tearing someone's brain out. Glad it wasn't full motion, it was quite gory and horrific.

6 - I'm living in a large house with several roommates, including an obnoxious roommate from college. He starts doing his usual crap and I yell at him just like I did in RL. Felt just as good, too.

7 - On a city street, a short asian woman and a tall black woman, both elderly, meet for the first time. The tall lady is wearing an old bowler hat. They're going to be partners in an important project, and go shuffling off together to get started.

A Lesson in Humility
Sunday, December 10, 2006[/b]

I love it. What a great dream.

Originally Posted by Twoshadows

I love it. What a great dream.
[/b]

Heh. I agree. That was great.
Nice journal so far, oneironut.

Twoshadows & Oneironaut - Thanks guys, I'm glad you both enjoyed it. I guess my brain thought the journal wasn't complete without at least one dream of kicking ass in a billowing black coat.

Hit ‘Em Where It Hurts
Tuesday, December 12, 2006, 2:31 a.m.

I enter the bank dressed in an expensive charcoal gray suit and black leather gloves. The lobby is all cold elegance: marble floor and walls, sleek modern furniture, pale flowers arranged in abstract vases. In my head I hear the voice of a woman with a vague European accent. She explains to me that this bank caters to very “special” clients who prefer their transactions go unnoticed. She says in an almost defensive tone that the bank helps its clients, turns a reasonable profit, and leaves everybody happy. I’m not happy at all, but I’m about to be.

The lobby opens into the cathedral-like expanse of the bank’s main room. I spot the door to the vault behind the row of teller windows. It looks to be seven feet high, several feet thick, and is currently closed and locked. Without a word of protest from any of the staff, I walk around the counter, step up to the vault door, and punch it off its hinges with both hands.

Stepping over the toppled door, I’m surprised to find myself in an antechamber rather than the vault itself. Sitting at a counter are two female receptionists and a male security guard. They don’t seem very disturbed by my loud entrance, but act almost as if they know me. Just past them is another vault door, this one even larger and thicker than the first. I point at each of the three bank employees and order them to follow me.

I punch the second vault door off its hinges also, but it doesn’t fall over. The corridor beyond is so small that the door remains wedged in place. Not to be deterred, I shove my way into the corridor, the broken vault door digging deep gouges in the walls as I push it ahead of me. The three employees follow close behind.

After several hundred feet, the corridor opens into a space large enough for the door to fall over. When I see the room beyond, all I can think is what a sham this “luxurious” bank really is. The vault, if you can call it that, is little more than a shabby storeroom with crumpled bundles of money stacked haphazardly on metal shelves. I find a yellow duffel bag and start stuffing it with money. I don’t care how much money I take, and have no interest in it for myself. I just don’t want them to have it.

Harsh voices drift down the corridor. It sounds like some real security has finally arrived. Because they’ve been so cooperative, I tell the three employees they’re free to go and invite them to take some of the remaining money for themselves. I zip up the duffel bag and start to think about how I’m going to get out of here. When I find my escape route, it just reminds me of what a sloppy outfit I’m dealing with. After all, what kind of reputable bank would have a vault with a side door? I kick through this door easily and start down a dimly lit stairwell. I figure it will lead to a maintenance tunnel or something. What it leads to, however, is a dead end.

The harsh voices are coming from the top of the stairwell now. I feel surprisingly cool and collected, and can’t help but laugh at my bad luck. Hefting the duffel bag over my shoulder, I calmly start back up.


Note: I can't remember for certain, but I believe today's fragment #4 (see earlier post) was a continuation of this dream after I fell back to sleep. I'd like to think so, because then it means I made my getaway after all.

Hooray for backups!

Rude Awakening
Thursday, December 14, 2006, 12:25 a.m.

This bed is huge and very comfortable, but it would be even nicer with a full set of bedding. I’m curled up on a bare mattress with no pillow and nothing but a single thin sheet to cover me. Still, the mattress is so soft that I find myself drifting off happily.

Half-asleep, I suddenly hear a group of voices chatting away in exaggerated stage whispers. It sounds like a whole tour group has come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, perhaps to observe me in my native habitat. I try to ignore them, but the voices just keep droning on and finally I open my eyes. Arranged in a half-circle around the foot of my massive bed are several ladies from work, an old high school friend, a tall kid in his early twenties that I recognize as a roommate from a couple years back, and another young man who’s a total stranger.

As I glare at them with bleary eyes, the group prattles on about how odd I look when I sleep, all curled up in a ball like that. A few of them even pull back the sheet to observe firsthand. Thankfully I’m dressed for winter in sweats and a t-shirt, so I’m only annoyed by their rudeness rather than mortified by my exposure. The look on my face apparently conveys the nonverbal equivalent of “Get the fuck out,” because the group does exactly that. For a few moments I hear the muffled sounds of people settling in for the night in other parts of the house—doors closing, sinks and toilets running, the click of light switches—before everything is completely dark and silent.

And I can’t sleep now. Dammit.

After a round of tossing and turning, I decide to do a little wandering of my own. My bedroom is at the end of a long hallway that stretches off to my right. To my immediate left is a landing that gives me a wide view of the first floor. God, this place is huge! Not mansion huge; we’re talking football stadium huge. The main staircase branches off at several points, leading to long halls lined with doors. I notice light coming from underneath more than a few of them.

Just as I start to get a little excited at the thought of living in this giant, complex maze of a house, a realization hits me from out of nowhere: I’m renting again. Oh crap, I must have sold my own house and now I’m sharing a place with roommates! And exactly how many roommates are there, I wonder? The rent on a palace like this must be insane, and I saw a lot of bedroom doors in a lot of hallways.

I’m overwhelmed by feelings of depression and self-loathing as I make my way back to my bedroom. Or try to, at any rate. I went down so many halls and staircases that I’m completely lost now.

Crumbling Hope
Friday, December 15, 2006, 1:09 a.m.

Nobody knows who they are because nobody’s seen them. Bug-eyed aliens, ghosts, a heartless human regime…take your pick. It doesn’t matter anyway. The rules in this brave new world are simple, precise, and implacable: if you’re outside, they can see you; if you don’t take adequate precautions, they can hear your thoughts; if they don’t like what you’re thinking, they make you go away.

I’m out on the street, a member of the resistance carrying the possible salvation of our movement in my shoulder bag and thinking very bad thoughts. Across the intersection is an old fast food restaurant. I immediately rush for the door, but stop when I recognize the place. No, that building’s been compromised, have to find somewhere else.

I turn and see another storefront, looks like an insurance agent’s office. I step inside and immediately feel at least a little safer. There’s a young woman, pale and bedraggled, hiding under a desk. I sit against the wall facing her and rest for a moment. We don’t talk and she doesn’t come out from under the desk.

Through the window I see several figures dressed in black run by. That’s my group, the one I took this foolish risk to meet. With a silent farewell to the poor girl, I leave the office and catch up with them. I kneel down on the sidewalk as they stand in a circle around me, leaning forward so that their heads are touching. Not much of a shield, but it will last enough for me to show them what I’ve brought. I open my shoulder bag and take out an object wrapped in white tissue paper. I fold the tissue back and we all stare at the object.

It’s a large chocolate chip cookie, broken into four neat wedge-shaped pieces. With nuts.

I wasn't expecting the cookie at all, lol. Very strange indeed.

Originally Posted by Krista

I wasn't expecting the cookie at all, lol.
[/b]

You and me both.

Originally Posted by oneironut

It’s a large chocolate chip cookie, broken into four neat wedge-shaped pieces. With nuts.
[/b]

Hahaha.
Priceless.

Rotten Luck All Around
Saturday, December 16, 2006

My car stalls as I’m making a left turn through an intersection. I have enough momentum to finish the turn, but I’m slowing fast and can’t tell if the right lane is clear enough for me to pull over, so I just turn on the flashers and hope for the best. Thankfully I reach the curb without a collision.

After taking a moment to calm down, I turn the ignition key but nothing happens. I push down on the gas pedal and try again, still no luck. Through the windshield I see a rough looking man walking towards my side of the car. I’m not too worried, but I glance quickly to make sure my door is locked.

Sure enough, the man suddenly lunges forward and tries to open my door. When he discovers it’s locked, he keeps tugging on the door handle and yelling a bunch of gibberish. I almost find the sight amusing. I mean, maybe you should try jacking a car that’s operational, moron.

The engine finally turns over and runs steadily. I give a sarcastic salute to my would-be assailant and put the pedal to the floor. The car starts forward…at about 2 miles per hour. The carjacker keeps pace with me at a light jog, still tugging mindlessly at the door handle.

One Tough Chipmunk
Sunday, December 17, 2006

I’m watching some sort of television program or movie, only instead of viewing it on a screen I’m actually hovering as an unseen presence right in the middle of the action. A small group of soldiers are fleeing through a snow-covered forest towards a river. The dark shapes of the pursuing enemy are clearly visible in the near distance. They call out to each other in a foreign language I don’t recognize.

Suddenly a lone figure breaks away from the fleeing soldiers and runs south along the river bank while the rest push on towards the water. At first I think this soldier is wearing a fur coat, but on closer inspection I see that he is dressed like a giant chipmunk, complete with a thick tail that swings rhythmically as he ducks beneath branches and jumps over fallen logs. I guess this is some pathetic attempt at a diversion to draw the enemy away from the rest of the soldiers. Pathetic or not, the tactic seems to work. Most of the enemy troops veer south in pursuit of the chipmunk man, while his compatriots safely enter the river.

My perspective shifts over to the fleeing chipmunk man. It’s as if he has adopted the dexterity of the creature he’s dressed as, because he’s running at incredible speed, moving over, under, or around any and all obstacles without slowing down. But just when I think he’s going to make it, I hear the faint chatter of a machine gun and a ragged line of bloody holes suddenly appears across his furry chest. Still carried forward by his momentum, the chipmunk man stumbles, spins, and falls face up in the river. A bloody cloud trails behind the body as it drifts slowly downstream.

I’m saddened by this strange man’s death, but I remind myself that his sacrifice was for the sake of his comrades. My perspective swings back to them, and I’m suddenly furious. Those sons of bitches have not moved! They’re about ten feet out from where they entered the river, just paddling around like a bunch of kids in the community pool. When the enemy soldiers arrive a few seconds later, these losers simply wade out of the river and surrender without a fight.

I’m so angry that I’m ready to give up on this whole stupid program, but my perspective shifts one more time. There’s the corpse of the chipmunk man again, floating downstream with arms outspread…arms that suddenly lift up from the river, swing back and down into the water, then forward to his sides from beneath the surface. I also notice the churning water by his feet, and I can’t help but laugh as the not-so-dead chipmunk man leisurely backstrokes his way to freedom.

Originally Posted by Oneironaut

Hahaha.
Priceless.
[/b]

Lol, yes, definitely high on my list of "WTF?" dream moments.

Boogeyman?
Monday, December 18, 2006

I’m in a room with two women and a quiet, friendly-faced man with sandy brown hair. In a pleasant tone of voice, the man says that he’s going to kill all of us and pulls a sawed-off shotgun from his coat. We attack him together and a clumsy melee ensues. At one point I’m practically looking down the barrels of the shotgun. The man’s cheerful expression never changes.

The three of us finally overpower him and get him down on the floor. I have the shotgun in my hands and the man’s arms pinned under my knees. Staring down at him, I realize what I’m going to have to do to stop him for good. I aim the shotgun at that friendly face and pull the trigger.

The two women and I leave the room, sick and shaking and relieved to be alive. We try to calm down and work out what we’re going to tell the authorities. But it turns out we have an even bigger problem, because when I go back to the room we fought in I discover the man’s body is gone.

Friday Night at the Sail-In
Tuesday, December 19, 2006

The surf swirls around our feet as some friends and I make our way along the coast to go see a movie. After a relaxing walk we move inland over some sand dunes and find ourselves at the entrance to the drive-in theater. It’s only then that we realize how stupid it is to go to a drive-in on foot, but it turns out we’re in luck. The entire parking lot is filled with an old sailing ship of dark weathered wood, larger than the largest galleon or man-o'-war.

The movie-going crowd is boarding the ship via heavy ropes hanging down the side of its hull. When I pull myself on deck, I see that the ship’s masts have been outfitted with dozens of wooden platforms holding theater seats, a great many of which are already taken. My friends and I are forced to split up because we can’t find a large enough group of empty seats. After a bit of climbing I’m able to find a spot for myself on one of the upper platforms at the ship’s stern. Looks like I’ll have a great view of the show, too, as there’s a massive screen less than a few hundred feet to port.

I then find out from the person sitting next to me that the screen showing our movie is actually way off the starboard bow. It’s so far away that it looks not much larger than a small television screen. I scramble to find a better seat before the show starts, but the view of the screen is blocked by rope or sail at every empty seat I find.