Heart/break/through

At first, it's just a haze. I have to fight my way through kind of a fog to actually see the room I'm in. I'm still sitting on the cozy, comfy couch. I seriously could sink down into this and never come out.

I have to get up, though. I'm determined; I have to find the "doctor." I've got questions. I only hope he has answers.

Out in the lounge, there are other people. They look like patients. Some are in pajamas, others in comfortable clothing ranging from sweats to regular "street" clothes, but I know each of them is here to either hide or recover from something... or both. I'm seeing them as patients because that's my comfortable perception. I'm in an institution because what is happening to me feels crazy. We established that the last time I was here.

The doctor is not in the lounge. I turn and look out the windows. I can still see my attackers out there. The male is pacing back and forth, looking at the windows like a cat stalking his prey. Just the sight of him sends chills up my spine. The woman is just standing there, half watching him, half watching the windows. Her posture is different than I'm used to seeing. She's kind of slouched, like a surly teen. Her left arm is tucked close against her side, her elbow bent so that her forearm is hugged against her waist, her hand balled into a fist under her right elbow. She's nervously sliding her right hand up and down the outside of that arm, from elbow to shoulder and back. When she sees me, she stops doing that, stands taller, and leans forward a bit, like she's trying to appear more intimidating.

It works. I look away from the window.

To the left of the lounge, around the corner from my room, is a front desk set into the wall. I approach, and speak to the nurse, the lady who was the "maid" at the dinner party. She is surprised to see me. She says she didn't expect me to be up and about so soon. I tell her I can't just sit and wait. I know there's something I need to remember or figure out. I need to talk to the "doctor." I ask if he's here.

She tells me he's been waiting for me. He'll meet me in my room again. All I had to do was ask.

I wander back to the room. Sure enough, there he is, seated next to the coffee table, waiting for me. Instead of the couch, I sit in another chair, facing him. I can't relax. There is some stuff I just need to know. I remember writing the questions down. I have a list. It should be here somewhere. I look around me, and see that it's tucked into the book on the coffee table.

The doc says, "I know you think you're ready, but don't rush this. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." He stops, shakes his head, then corrects himself, "...what you're getting yourself back into."

I'm annoyed. "NO." I say, almost shaking my head at him. "I am back into it, whatever it is. I mean, look. I'm under attack. I can't leave here. They're waiting for me outside. I have to know what this is about."

The doc tells me it doesn't work that way. I'm not ignorant because I just don't know. I haven't forgotten; I've hidden the knowledge from myself for protection. It's not that I can't remember. I didn't want to, and I had a reason.

Again, I'm annoyed, partly because this isn't getting me what I want, but partly at feeling that somehow, this makes everything my fault. I point out that whatever I was trying to protect must now be endangered by my ignorance. He agrees. He says he'll tell me what he can, and guide me through telling myself what I can.

I ask, "Who are those people?" He says he doesn't have an answer to that, because who they are is too complicated to describe. He asks me who I am, and I realize that if I just say my name, I'm not really telling him anything. I look at my questions, and realize I'm not going to ask everything as it's written on the page. These questions are too simple, and the answers they ask for are too complex.

I settle for asking him why the gray haired lady can pop my shield. Nothing else has ever been able to do that before. He responds by leaning forward and asking me, "Do you really want to explore the answer to that?"

I don't. Something inside me wants to avoid that information the same way I want to avoid the third rail in a subway, so much that my insides are screaming at me, but I have to know. I nod.

He says, "Don't blame me. You asked. Don't forget that you asked." He looks really distressed. "If you really want to know, it's yours. You just have to open it up and look at it."

On the table is a beautiful, white, leather-bound book. It looks familiar. I don't want it, but I have to know what's inside. Picking it up, I open it and begin looking at the pictures.

My own face stares back at me from inside the book, nervous and excited, and filled with joy. I'm dressed in a ceremonial robe, but it's not like anything I've seen. It looks formal, but at the same time, it's designed to be attractive. I've had my hair styled. I'm standing front of a bookshelf, leaning on it like I'm just relaxing there. I recognize this as a portrait pose. I never really stand like this.

My eyes cross to the next page, and stop. It's her, but it's not her as she is now. She looks so beautiful. Her eyes are soft, not cruel. Her hair is red, not gray. Her smile is kind, wise, and inviting. She's dressed in a ceremonial robe just like mine. On her, the effect is enchanting, regal. There are beads and feathers in her hair, and she's wearing a silver necklace with a glittery gem at her throat. There is an ache in my chest. I have to fight the urge to touch the photo with my fingers, as if I can reach through to the person shown in it. Looking at this picture makes me feel like someone has slapped me across the face.

What is this? I look up at the doc. He motions back to the book. He's not going to answer me.

I turn the page. There are more images, groups of people I seem to recognize, but can't remember. I'm in some, and she's in others. The more I look, the more it hurts. Then, in the middle of the book is a series of photos of the two of us walking together. Each of us is carrying a lit candle. Seeing this, I feel nervous anticipation rise in my gut, like I'm about to be "on the spot" and I'm afraid I'm going to screw it up.

In the next images, we pass the viewer, and enter what looks like a prop-defined sacred space, with another woman in a flowing, ornate robe standing in the center, and four very serious, somber looking people standing around the outer edges, facing out. In front of the woman is a small table covered in a golden cloth. There's a beautiful white candle in the middle of it, carefully molded and cut to create a lacy, decorative effect. There, we turn to face each other, holding our candles in front of us. The images continue, showing the lady speaking to us, and us answering her. After a few frames, there's a picture of us lowering our candles to light the fancy one on the table, and then we set them in holders on either side of it. My heart pounds, but I keep turning pages. It's pretty obvious to me now, what kind of album this is, but I don't think there was a really a photographer at this ceremony.

I stare at the photos of the officiating lady (a priestess, maybe?) as she steps around the little altar and leads us to the "front" of the circle, places our hands (my left, and my lady's right) together, and wraps a cloth over them, and then everything is blurred, and I can't see to turn the page. There's a wetness on my cheeks. I feel the book slide from my lap.

Everything around me seems to melt. For a moment, I'm falling, and then I'm not. I find myself reclining back into the softness, wrapped in someone's arms, legs intertwined, my face resting on a firm breast. Someone's fingers are weaving through my hair. I move so that I can see my partner. Her brow creases with worry, and she asks if I've had another of my "bad" dreams. Not knowing what to say, I nod, and she tightens her embrace, cups my cheek in her hand, and kisses my forehead. She tells me not to worry. They're just dreams. There can't be anything that horrible in the world, nothing so selfish and evil. I feel ambivalent. I want to be comforted, but I can't get the images out of my head; terrible, twisted beings with too many limbs and not enough mental capacity, raging down on us like roaches with unfamiliar weapons and startling tenacity. I'm overtaken by shivers. She asks, "do I need to give you something else to think about?"

I find myself holding on tightly. I try to block out the terrible visions by turning away from the light, burying myself in her embrace. Taking that as a yes, she pulls me into a deep kiss, and my fear fades as I'm lost in an awareness limited only to experiencing her.

I start to forget that this is just a memory, beginning to not hurt from reliving it, when whatever I've closed it up inside of bursts open, and I am flooded with fragments and images. The two of us standing at the back of a huge meeting hall, people shouting, two men dragging in the carcass of  something terrible and unnatural. I'm standing on top of a hill, looking down at what appears to be a long rip through the air, focusing an energy attack on it, trying to keep something from coming through. I'm laying on a mat on the ground, under a huge tent, along with many others, gritting my teeth as she stitches up a long gash in my leg. She is thinner, but she looks stronger and more beautiful than ever. The two of us, stealing a moment alone in the woods outside our camp, trying to listen for sounds of an approach, but otherwise occupied.

I remember that there was some kind of conflict, something horrible trying to get to us, and to others through us, and there was something innocent that needed protected. There was a ritual, a small group of us working together in an emergency. There had been a lot of fighting, but I can't bring myself to look back at that.

I know that the group used the image of a great, heavy door as a focus for stopping the invaders, and the image of a key to seal the door shut. That was our part in the ritual. All this time, I've been afraid that I was the key, but I'm not. I'm not the key.

I don't even have the key.

Something terrible pulls at my heart. Something went wrong. There's a fire, and there's a lot of pain. I remember floating away from my own body, watching her try to pull me back into it, drawing energy, focusing, seeing my spirit and screaming. The color drains from her hair, and I realize she's using her own life to try to bring back mine, but something is wrong, and I can't return. Something I'm carrying inside of me now won't let me go back. If she doesn't stop this, she's just going to die. I gather what energy I can, and blast her with it, throwing her backward. I push my body into the fire and watch it burn. It takes almost the last of my energy to even touch it. When I try to comfort her, my fingers aren't solid any more. I can't even tell her goodbye.

I feel myself snap back into the asylum, sitting in that chair, looking at the doctor. He tells me, "She can pop your shield because you let her. Just as she was unwilling to let you go, you've been unwilling to let go of her, too. If you don't break the connection, if you don't move on, she'll always have that power over you."

I look at the doc. My heart feels broken, and I can't stop myself from crying. It makes me feel whiny and self-centered. I realize what the connection is between myself and the gray haired lady, but now I don't understand why she's attacking me. I ask "But, why is she working with him?"

My alarm clock woke me this morning, and I didn't get a reply. I can't sleep late, because I have to work. This is a lot for me to process. I don't even begin to know what to do with this. It isn't right. I remember my whole life, and none of it was like this. This dream brought up memories only of other dreams, which I'd forgotten because they were too terrible to hold onto. 


This is enough - just documenting it. I'm not going to try to analyze this dream. It feels like there's a burning, heavy weight in my chest right now. I'm not tired, but I feel totally drained. This feels a lot like grief.

What?

This is odd. I slept for 12 hours last night. I've only been awake long enough to get something to eat and have some coffee. I just finished reading the last few days' blog to my husband, who for once has the day off on a weekday, because of the holiday. 

I don't have a dream to post today. For the first time in my entire life, for as long and far back as I can remember, I slept the whole night through and woke without having had a memorable dream. I remember closing my eyes last night, and feeling myself doze off. I remember seeing the room in the asylum, then dozing off again. There's nothing else.

I never sleep this late unless I'm sick or injured, or I've been on an insomnia bender that had to be ended with medicine (something that hasn't happened in years, and never in winter.) My usual is about 6 to 9 hours, starting between 8 and 11 P.M. and ending between 4 and 7 A.M., usually not past whatever time the sun comes up. It was afternoon when I got up today. 

I guess I needed the rest. I'm a little groggy now, but I actually feel pretty good. I'm having less fibro pain than normal, and I'm pretty wide awake. I could get used to this.

Reprieve

I'm not a greatly experienced lucid dreamer. I've tried, but there have been so many distractions in my life for the last few decades that I just don't get the right focus going. I have achieved a few things. Even though I don't always know I'm dreaming - in fact, usually I don't know it's a dream - I have developed the ability to recognize the dream state as a place where I have "powers" even though I am not consciously aware of the fact that I'm asleep. As seen in some of my other dreams, I can fly, I can draw "energy" from my surroundings, and I can use it to fight. When I reach the border of awareness between knowing I can affect the dream, and knowing that it is a dream, I can alter my own physical form and control the actions of others. (And yes, in high school I used this to dream I had bigger boobs. Wouldn't you?) I believe that the evolution of these capabilities has occurred somewhat due to the nightmares themselves - I had to fight back, or lose my mind entirely. The result is that without knowing I'm not acting in everyday waking reality, I don't have any problem with doing and witnessing things that I would not expect to work the same way in the waking state.   

I have no idea why I'm walking in the downtown area in the middle of the night, or why it's so deserted. This place is never quiet. The few times I've had to drive through here, there have always been other cars, and people walking. Tonight, there's nobody. The entire street is empty. I can hear my footsteps echoing around me up and down the street.

My legs ache really badly, like I've been walking for a long time, or in some other way overexerted them. The worst pain is in my groin muscle on the right side. I have a vague memory of taking over-the-counter medicine for it, but there hasn't been much relief from that. Looking down, I realize that my boots may be part of the reason why I'm hurting so much. They're really cool looking hard-soled boots, high black leather, with buckles and studs up the outside, and big, square four inch heals. The tops are hidden by the dress I'm wearing, which goes below the knee. These boots are heavy. As I walk, they sound almost like horse's hooves on the pavement. I love these and wonder where I got them, but for walking like this, I wish I had my sneakers. I wonder why I am dressed like this? This dress looks like an adult version of a little girl's party or Easter dress, only it's black. I recognize the style - it's an attempt at a Lolita look, but the boots are totally wrong, and there's no parasol, no gloves. This is not how I would do that look. Did I even dress myself, or did someone else pick this out for me? I have to get out of here.

I know that I'm on my way to where my van is parked. There's a lot down the street. I must have paid to park there. Still, something about this seems really off. It feels manufactured, like a movie set. Why would I even be alone in the downtown area after dark? There's nothing here for me to do. Behind me is the courthouse. Down the street are bars I don't patronize, hotels where I don't stay, and stores where I don't shop. There's a bank where I don't have an account. There's absolutely nothing here that I would seek out. Feeling a sense of unfocused wrongness, I start pulling energy, and I realize it doesn't feel like "downtown" energy. It feels like I'm pulling from my own neighborhood. I quickly use the energy to make a shield around myself, and then begin reinforcing it. I have a bad feeling that I'm being watched. I need to take note of my surroundings.

Looking around, I realize I've walked beyond where I meant to go. I've crossed the street west of the courthouse, and gone down the block. I'm now in front of the parking garage instead of where I meant to be. I should have crossed the street to the south to get to the lot. I can see my van there, but I can't cross here. Even though it's deserted, with my luck, if I try to jaywalk, that would be the one time there would be a car, and I wouldn't see it in time. Is that the malevolence I'm facing, that I'm going to be hit by a car trying to get home?

I turn around to go back, trying to watch everywhere at once. Even this feels manufactured. Why don't I remember crossing the street?

As the thought hits me, a shadow runs out of the parking garage and approaches me rapidly. I put up a hand and shove a burst of what I've been pulling at it. The energy streaks forward like a lightning bolt, striking the figure in the chest and knocking it backward. I hear a loud, undefined "OOF" sound like I knocked the wind out of my assailant. I know I'm in trouble, though. I'm exhausted, still in pain from previous days' activities (which I can't remember) and having difficulty concentrating in these odd clothes and odd surroundings.

I back away from the shadow, focused on pulling more energy. The shadow bolts forward like a sprinter launching out of a set of starting blocks, heading right for me. Remembering a snippet from a recent conversation I can't place, I try putting the energy into my shield instead of an attack. I push the structure of it to form long spikes with the energy I'm adding. They pop out like the barbs on an inflating blowfish in a cartoon. As the shadow approaches, I push everything into that shield and those spikes, realizing suddenly that only I can see them.

He slams into the sharp ends with a gratifying crunch, and howls in pain. His voice, sounding very familiar, sends chills down my spine. Now that he's closer, I can see him, too. His appearance is totally deceptive. He's shorter than me, and abnormally thin, with wiry, sinewy arms and legs. His hair sticks out everywhere, hanging around his face and shoulders like it's never been in the same room with a comb. His face is kind of heart shaped, with a small, pointy chin, a small, thin-lipped mouth that is sneering at me right now, a pointy little nose, and big, heavy-lidded, sleepy-looking, black-rimmed, very bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them that almost look like bruises. His top eyelids seem half-closed. His bottom eyelids hang open a bit too far, revealing the red flesh below his corneas. The effect looks like he put on way too much eyeliner, then pulled his eyelids down and they got stuck that way. Looking at it makes my eyes hurt. He has long, sharp, stained claws instead of fingernails. His ears are pointed at the top, the points sticking out through that mop of hair in two different directions. His hair covers his forehead, coming down over his eyebrows. He's dressed in dark clothes and wearing a jacket. Big, heavy soled boots stick out from under his pants. If he kicks me with those, it's going to hurt bad.

I don't know from where, but I know this guy, and I know that I really am in trouble. I feel my face betray my sense of recognition, my confusion, and my fear. He sees, and he smiles. The tiny mouth doubles its width in an awful, sneering grin, showing sharp but dingy teeth all the way back.

He's bleeding where the points of my shield stuck into his body. There are spikes broken off, sticking out of his shirt. He grabs one, pulls it out, and looks at it, then looks at me and says, "Nice."

He starts walking around me instead of toward me, looking at my shield, which he can apparently now see. I can see his gaze moving up and down, assessing, searching for something. When he starts to move around to the side, I turn to face him. He looks amused and says, "Only in the front, is it?" then disappears from my view.

I hear a noise behind me, and spin around just in time to take a blow to the side. He hits the shield again, this time with the palms of his hands, and this time there's a crackling, electric discharge all around me. He's not attacking me. He's attacking my shield. His jaw is set, his lips bunched together, and his eyebrows low over his eyes. I've made him angry.

The effect of his attack throws me into the air, tossing me several yards down the street. I try to control the fall, but I land on my back and hit my head on the sidewalk. I can still feel the energy snapping around me. My shield is still there, but it feels thinner. I hear him yell, "Well, what are you waiting for? Are you going to just stand there and watch?"

From behind me, I hear a feminine laugh. I know her. I've seen her recently. If she is here, I'm toast. I struggle to get up, my head feeling heavy, and my feet feeling tangled up in my boots. I try to turn over so I can get up from an all-fours position, since I can't seem to get my balance this way. I'm a hair's breadth from panic, scrambling sideways on the pavement, accidentally moving closer to the street.

I see her kneeling beside me, her face twisted in a look of mock sympathy, wrecked by the humor in her eyes. She says, "Awe, cut it out. He isn't that scary." With one finger, she pokes my shield, and it vanishes with a loud popping sound, and she says, "That's better." She grabs me with both hands, and wraps me up in a stranglehold that almost feels like it was meant to be a hug, except that I can't move, my chin is trapped against her chest, and she's squeezing me so hard she's hurting my neck. I can feel the zipper from her jacket pressing into my cheek. It feels like it's breaking the skin there. I think she's going to kill me.

All I can do is scream. I decide to try putting energy into that. I can't take a deep breath, but I take as much of a breath as I can, and let out the loudest war-whoop I can muster, pulling from the sidewalk beneath me and forcing the energy out through my voice. The effect seems to be as though she's been slugged in the jaw by a giant fist. She lets go and falls backward, her head smacking the sidewalk like mine did a moment ago. Forgetting my previous worry about traffic, I run into the street, continuing to draw energy and scream like mad. The tall woman rolls away from me and hides behind one of the concrete trash fixtures attached to the sidewalk.

The man who originally attacked is running toward her. She glares at him and yells, "Why did you dress her like that? Did you want her to blast me like that?"

He smacks her in the back of the head and shouts something that sounds entirely like gibberish. They both look mad. She points at me and yells back at him in gibberish. Her face is red. I think maybe while they're fighting, I can escape. I finish crossing the street, and begin sneaking off toward my van. I take 3 steps on the other side of the street, when he looks at me and yells, "No you don't!"

He doesn't move. Confused, I stop, just in time to feel something huge, hard, and heavy slam into me, knocking me into the air, flipping me sideways so that I can see I've been hit by a small sports car. I can see clearly through the windshield. There is no driver.

I am filled with total despair. I can't win this by myself. I wish I was back at the party where there was help.

As the thought crosses my mind, I hear a siren in the distance. It rapidly gets louder. Both of my attackers turn to look at it. I land in the street, and the car backs up off of the sidewalk and revs its engine. I try to focus on floating up in the air. I get about 4 feet off of the ground, but I can't go up any more. I feel heavy, and exhausted. I'm running out of options. I start to sink.

An ambulance pulls up behind me. I hear doors slamming, and footsteps. My male attacker's voice shouts "You! What do you think you're doing?"

I'm having trouble seeing what is around me. Everything is kind of blurred. I think maybe I have a head injury. I hear another familiar female voice say, "Careful. She's bleeding," and then there are a bunch of hands on my arms, hips, and legs, lifting me. I'm on a flat surface, moving. The female says, "Get her into the back." I hear shouting further away, and a bunch of different noises; crackling, buzzing, and booming sounds. The tall woman shrieks, and suddenly I feel freezing cold. I could swear that my blood has turned to ice. I hear the male from the ambulance yell, "You're fighting for the wrong team!" The tall woman shouts obscenities at him. Then, I'm inside, and the doors slam shut at my feet. Someone tells me to relax, that they can't get in here. I hear another door shut, and the siren starts again. The blur turns into dark. It feels like we're moving, and I'm nauseous for a moment.

I wake up laying on a hospital bed, in a small room with some living room furniture and a little refrigerator. There's no window, but there are pictures all over the walls, all of them very pretty, none of them containing people. Some of them are photos I've shot, but others I don't recognize. I'm dressed a lot more comfortably than before, in full-length, fuzzy, warm footie pajamas. I haven't had a pair of these since I was a little kid. Having them on brings back a host of positive memories and feelings. I'm cozy, cared for, and totally secure. I'm protected.

I sit up. My head still hurts, but not as badly. I can feel that there's a bandage wrapped around the injury. It's not wet, so that's good. I look at the floor. I'm afraid to just stand up without seeing where I'm putting my feet. Beside the bed, there's a pair of big, puppy fat slippers. Someone knows my feet get cold.

I slip my pajama-footed toes into the slippers, and stand up. I'm not dizzy, just tired.

I wonder if I'm locked in, or if I can leave this room. I try the door, and it opens to show what looks like a dormitory lounge. There are couches and chairs, coffee tables, and a snack machine. I step out, and look around. A familiar lady approaches me and states the obvious. "Oh, you're awake!"

I remember her in a different, more formal outfit from before, but she's dressed in scrubs now, with white pants and a shirt with different colored little flower prints on it. She asks how I'm feeling. I tell her my head hurts, but it's not bad, and I'm not dizzy any more, then ask where I am. She smiles at me and says the doctor will meet me in my room. She says she's glad I'm ok, but I should get some rest.

So, I'm in a medical facility. Ok. I see magazines and books on the coffee tables. I head for one of the couches, but when I do I can see out the window that my attackers from before are outside across the street. They look horribly pissed off, and are pacing back and forth, glaring at the building. As I watch, the male hurls some kind of energy ball at the window. I jump backward, almost slipping and falling, but the ball doesn't come inside. It hits the building with a loud bang, but doesn't seem to do any damage. I see the tall woman building up an energy ball in her hand, but the male shakes his head, and she lets it fade.

The "nurse" tells me I should go back to my room, where they can't see me. It'll be safer there. She walks me back there, wheeling a cart in front of her. In the room, I curl up on the couch. It doesn't seem to bother her that I've put my feet on the furniture. Instead, she puts a great big soup-bowl sized mug on the little coffee table in front of me and tells me to drink, and I'll feel better. When she goes, I notice a book on the table. I pick it up and open it. Inside are a bunch of cartoons and kitty-lolz I've seen and laughed at before, ones that really hit my funny bone. I pick up the mug and take a sip. It's beef broth with rosemary and onion, another favorite of mine.

I'm sitting on the cushy couch, feeling cozy and warm in these pajamas and slippers, sipping the very fortifying mix of beef infused with protective herbs, and perusing the book of my favorite jokes, when the "doctor," who I recognize as the man who helped me avoid the tall woman's traps the last time I saw him, comes into the room. He's dressed the part, wearing pressed gray slacks, shiny black shoes, a shirt and tie, and a white scrub jacket. He is even carrying a clipboard and a pen. I almost expect him to sit down and ask me, "...and how does that make you feel?"

Wait. I'm in a mental institution? Wait. It's not a real institution, is it? I'm not stuck here forever, right? Was I committed? Am I nuts? I look at him, but I'm afraid to ask that question.

He raises an eyebrow and says, "Don't ask me. You're the one who interpreted "asylum" this way. I didn't build it like this. I just did the pajamas and the food. I thought you'd like those better than a flimsy hospital gown and cafeteria food. Anyhow, you're safe here for now. They can't get in. You should get some sleep."

For a moment, I'm confused. Asylum?

He says, "You should get some rest while you can. Drink the broth, and get some sleep."

I am really tired. I want to ask questions, but I can feel sleep taking over. He stands, smiles at me, and leaves. I'm left with the broth and the book. I find myself gulping down the drink, emptying the cup rapidly. The couch is so comfortable, I don't want to get up, even though there's a bed to sleep in, and even though I have about 500 questions for that guy. I'm just so sleepy. I think I'll shut my eyes for a moment while I decide what to do.


I didn't even feel myself transition from dreaming to awake. One second, I was closing my eyes on the big, cushy couch in the mental institution from my dream, and the next, I was on the couch in my living room at home. I vaguely remember kissing my husband goodbye sometime after talking to the "doctor" from my dream, but that is kind of a blur. 

For the first time in days, I feel pretty good. I'm not exhausted. I'm still sore, but I have fibromyalgia, and this feels pretty normal for me. It feels like for once, I got a full night's sleep. I don't feel like I could take on the whole world, but at least I'm ready to take on the day. This isn't so bad.

Socialite

I'm laying in a big, wide bed with a thick comforter and fat pillows. It definitely isn't my bed at home.


I'm by myself, but with all of the pillows and the thick comforter, this is really cozy. I curl up and start to doze. I hear the door of the room I'm in open, then click shut. I'm so sleepy, it's hard to open my eyes. I try to turn toward the sound of the footsteps coming toward me, but it takes too much effort. The blanket feels heavy on top of me, and my limbs feel heavy with fatigue. I am anxious about the situation, but I can't move any better than this. I feel someone large climb onto the bed, sliding in behind me. One arm snakes under my neck, so that my head rests against a shoulder. The other arm slides around my waist, and I'm locked in someone's embrace. I feel the pillow dip above my head as someone shares it with me, and a pair of knees curl up behind mine, and a pair of feet tuck in beneath mine. Now, I'm spooning with a completely unknown, very tall person. I am simultaneously drawn to and repelled by this woman. Being snuggled up to by her feels warm and cozy, creepy, and somehow terribly threatening. I'm completely spooked by this.

She starts speaking quietly to me. "Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat, if you'd like." There is an unmistakeable lilt of intent in her voice that makes the statement more innuendo than an offer to warm the room. She punctuates the statement with a soft kiss on my temple. Goosebumps erupt all along my arms, on the back of my neck, and down my legs. My nerves jangle, and my stomach lurches. I'm really an affectionate person. I really am. But this makes me want to bolt and jump out the nearest window.

She says, "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you this time. I won't, if you don't struggle." 

Somehow this does not make me feel better at all. The only impression I get from her statement is that if I do struggle, she will hurt me. How is that supposed to be comforting? I find myself stiffening up, holding myself in position, waiting for whatever comes next. She tightens her embrace, pressing me against her like I'm going to disappear. I realize that I can disappear. I'm asleep. All I have to do is wake myself up.

I hear her speaking again as I focus really hard on not being there. She says, "You should just relax. You're not going anywhere until you tell me..."

I sink my own teeth into the side of my wrist, hard.

At this point, the dream didn't end, but the scene kind of changed abruptly. At the time, it didn't feel weird for that to happen. It went just like a scene change in a movie, except that the viewer (me) forgot the previous scene while experiencing the next one.

I'm in a big dining room with a long, dark wooden table and lots of chairs. No one else is in here but me.

The table is set with an amazing spread of food. Pretty much everything I've ever tried and liked is there, with generous servings of my favorite things.It's as if this has all been set out for me.

In the distance, I can hear music playing quietly. It's loud enough that I can catch bits of it, and it sounds pleasant enough, but it's too quiet for me to identify what's playing. Finding out doesn't feel important, though. I have noticed that although there is a great banquet on this table, there are no place settings at all, not even one.

A woman about my age comes into the room. She's dressed in a long, dark skirt and a high-necked white shirt with long sleeves. Her dark hair is put up in a little bun in the back of her head. On her head is a little cap that is kind of like a tiara made of eyelet lace. She's shorter than me, and very fine-boned, with small wrists and hands, and a pointy little chin. Her eyes seem a bit large for her face. The effect reminds me of something between an anime character and a precious moments doll.

In her hand is a string. There's a knot where the ends were tied together, but another part of it has broken, so instead of a circle, it's just hanging limply from her fingers. She looks very worried and upset.

I ask if she's ok, and she tells me she's in big trouble. She's supposed to set the table for supper, but she can't get into the china cabinet, because she's lost the key. She holds up the string. She's got this wide-eyed look of sadness and fear that tugs at my sympathy strings and makes me want to help. I ask if it's shiny, or if the metal is oxidized. She says I'd know it if I saw it. I ask if she's retraced her steps looking for it, and she nods. Thinking about how I am when I've lost something, and how I miss important details when I'm searching frantically for something, I ask her to show me. Maybe I will spot something that her nerves made her overlook. She nods again, and motions for me to follow her out of the room.

I walk behind her, glancing around the dark hardwood floor to see if I spot anything shiny, but there's nothing. Out in the hallway, the lighting is not so good, because there are no windows. I'm watching along the floor to see if there's anything, but the hallway is spotless. Whoever cleans this place is meticulous and diligent. There isn't even dust in the corners. We walk nearly to the end of the hallway, where there is a stairway. It goes up to a landing, then turns back and goes the rest of the way up over our heads. Under the first half of the stairs is a door to what I assume is a closet.

As I wait for her to open the door, I recognize this place. I have been here recently, at a party. I can't quite remember it. When I try, I run into kind of a fog, instead. But it's not important right now. Right now we need to find that key. She turns the handle and pulls, and I find myself looking into a very short hallway. Off to the right is a small storage alcove under the stairs, but three feet from the door is another doorway leading into what looks like a pantry.

The maid I'm helping steps inside, motioning me to follow. When I enter, she shuts the door, then reaches across and slides another door shut across the other doorway, and suddenly it's pitch black in here. I feel myself shoved into the little alcove. I trip backward and fall to a sitting position on top of a large box. I smell cinnamon and sugar, but it's more like a put-on scent than like real food, and then I realize I can hear her breathing in my ear. Her face is right next to mine.

She whispers frantically. "There isn't any time. Just believe that I know you. Don't eat, and don't let her find that key."

I feel something brush against my hand. Before I can pull away, she has put the string around my wrist.

"Don't forget."

I ask, "What should I do? Who are you? How do you know me?" but the door opens. In the dim light, I can see that I'm alone in here. I step out into the hall and close the door, then make my way back to the dining room. The table is set with plastic plates and picnic utensils instead of china and silver. There are red plastic cups instead of glasses, and paper napkins. There's an incredibly tall woman with really long, silvery gray hair, standing on the other side of the room, looking out of the window. She tells me to sit anywhere, and apologizes for the poor service, which I take to mean the table setting. I feel bad for not helping the maid find her key. The gray lady sounds almost really pissed, but not quite - it sounds more put-on than genuine. It's like she wants me to think she's pissed, but really, she's not.

Several other people come into the room, and sit around the table. There are a few empty spots left. One is next to a guy I kind of recognize from the last time I was here, so that is the spot I choose. The maid I was helping before comes in, along with four other ladies dressed just like her. She is the shortest and smallest of the bunch. She looks around the table, her eyes passing over me with no hint of recognition. The tall woman turns and sits at the head of the table. Her face really does not match her hair at all. She looks like she can't be more than 40 years old, maybe even as young as 30. I wonder what made her go gray so young. She smiles at all of us, and then tells the maids to serve the guests

In the back of my mind is a nagging sense of wrongness. I should not be here at this table with these people. None of this is what it is made to appear to be. This isn't a dinner party. These people aren't guests. I don't think any of them can leave.

The maids begin offering servings of all of the various items on the table. The petite maid fills my plate with several items, then surreptitiously moves some of it so that it looks like I've been eating. One of the bigger maids, a tall, younger girl who outweighs me, is blocking my view of the hostess at that moment, so I can't tell if she notices, but I suspect that she can't see me either. The man in the seat next to me sees, though. He gives me a nod and a wink, and hands me my empty spoon. He puts his empty spoon in his mouth, then remarks how delicious the soup is. I follow suit, and agree with him. The taller maid stands up straight, and I can see a triumphant look on the face of the hostess.

The dinner is painfully awkward, with stilted conversation, and frequent questions about how much I like this or that item on the table. I profess to have tasted and enjoyed everything on my plate, and after an appropriate amount of time, I state that I've been served too enthusiastically, and I just can't eat any more. I'm stuffed. The hostess mentions dessert, and I decline, faking a hiccup and managing to even make myself burp a little.

She looks impatient, and the charade seems to be over. Everyone pushes their seats back. My partner in crime gives me a sympathetic, but conspiratorial and approving look, but follows suit. I also push my seat back. As the guests all stand up, the maids begin clearing the plastic ware. The hostess glares at them, then looks right at me and says, "It's too bad you couldn't find the key."

Startled, I look down at my hands, still folded in my lap. I didn't realize she knew I was looking.

That's when I see it. On the inside of the my wrist, the one the maid tied the string around, is a small tattoo of a fancy looking old-fashioned key. My heart jumps into my throat. I know that I can't open the china cabinet with my wrist, but somehow I'm sure that the tattoo is a real key. I have the key this woman is looking for. She knows I have it. She knows I've forgotten what it is, and she's trying to make me remember so she can take it from me.

I compose my face with a look of disappointment, allowing enough nervousness to show to let her think I'm feeling like I screwed up by not getting it for her. I tell her that maybe it's missing because of how clean the house is. Maybe after it fell, it was swept up, and ended up in the trash. This is rewarded with a look of annoyance that's downright scary. She stands up, and everyone scatters. The maids all run out of the room. She leans down and puts her hands on the table, looking right at me, and says, "Do you think I'm STUPID?"

I look back at her, not knowing what I'm going to do until I hear myself speak. "Well, do you think I am?"

Inside, I'm thinking, Oh, God, I've just pissed her off... she's going to kill me right now! Why did I say that to her? On the outside, though, I seem to be completely calm and composed. My hands are folded in my lap, with the key tattoo down. My gaze is steady, and I'm not shaking. I'm the only one in the room who hasn't gotten up. Most of the other guests are leaving. The man from beside me is standing in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn't look relaxed. The maids are hovering in another doorway, all looking terrified, except the petite lady who gave me the string. She's got a very serious, measured look on her face.

It feels like something is about to happen, and the two of them are ready for it, but I really am not. I want out of this.

My hostess stops what she's doing, turns away from me, and goes back to the window. She seems to be composing herself.

"It's a shame," she says. "I really like using the items in that cabinet."
Then, "You should get some rest, after such a big meal. You must be getting sleepy."

I turn and look at the maid. She nods, and I agree that it's time for me "to retire." I say, "It's been a long day."

My hostess glances backward at me and gives me a cocky smile. She says, "Better get used to it, if you're going to be so stubborn. You can get out of this any time you want, you know."

When I leave the room with the maid, we go up those stairs, back into the bedroom from the beginning of the dream. As soon as I lay down in the bed, I found myself awake in my home. 


This is the second dream I've had where the setting was that house, and I'm repeatedly dreaming about this tall woman with the gray hair. I'm curious to see what is behind this, but at the same time, it's scary. I feel like there's something really not up-front about her, and I'm not going to like her when I find out what it is.


About the key, I'm intensely curious and confused. I don't have any tattoos at all. None. I also don't have any kind of physical key like the one in the tattoo. I have my car keys, my apartment keys, and that's it. I woke with the feeling that the key on my wrist was an indication of something that I all ready know, and should be able to remember, but for some reason, I don't. Whatever it is, I feel protective of it, like it's important that the gray haired lady doesn't get it.


I dozed again after that, and I don't remember dreaming about anything, but when my husband woke me to say goodbye in the morning, I did something totally uncharacteristic of our relationship before I was totally awake. I took a swing at him like he was there to hurt me. I've never, ever done that. Not to him. 


When I was younger, only a very limited few people could get near me when I was sleeping. There wasn't a reason - there's nothing in my childhood I could point to and say, "This probably caused me to hit people in my sleep." It just happened, that's all, and it was bad. If anyone but immediate family or my best friend tried put a hand on me, even just to nudge me awake, I'd jump up and attack, knocking the person down, pinning him or her to the floor, and start beating on him or her until I actually did wake up. The only safe way for friends to wake me was to stand near where I was sleeping and stare for a few seconds. I'd wake with a start, but at least I didn't hit anyone.

It was my husband who got me over that. Unlike other people, he could approach and wake me, even before we were dating, with no problem. I guess I just always felt a connection to him. Since we've been married, I've gotten to the point where I don't have that reaction any more.


Except this morning. I had it this morning. That, over and above everything else in the dream, totally freaks me out.

A Walk in the Dark

I'm just clocking out at the end of a work shift. It's after dark. I've stayed later than I was supposed to, because someone didn't do things that are supposed to be done on first shift, and I had to catch up so that it all didn't fall on the 3rd shifter. Instead of 8 hours, I've been there for 9. It's almost midnight.

I worked on "fast forward" all night, and I'm feeling it. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My ribs hurt, and I don't even know why. I just want to go home, take more than the recommended dosage of ibuprofen, and crawl into bed with three or four blankets over me.

The last heavy thing I did tonight was change one of the big BIBs. (BIB = Bag In Box. It's the syrup for one of the colas in the soda fountain.) Those things weigh 50 pounds, and I'm the only girl at work who can really handle them. The co-worker on shift with me can't even lift the darned things. She pointed out that it was empty, watched me lift it, flip it, and shove it into place, then finished attaching it while I went out to run the nozzle to get the air out of the hose so it wouldn't spit on our customers.

Now, I'm thinking that maybe I shouldn't have flipped it to turn it over. That was a bit much. The way my shoulders feel, I may have been overdoing it there... but it was fun to watch my co-worker's eyes widen when I did it. I made it look like less effort than it was. I guess it's my one weakness of ego - If I can't be cuter, I at least like being bigger and stronger than the other girls.

Once the time clock lets me out (and it takes about 5 times for it to read my print) I leave the back office, say goodbye to the night shifter, admonish him to greet everyone at the door with a smile (a robber is less likely to hit your store if he knows you're alert and you got a good look at his face as he walked in) and then head out to my van.

That's when I remember - I had to walk tonight. My van wouldn't start. It wouldn't even turn over. My husband was all ready at work, so there was nothing I could do. I walked here, and now I'm going to have to walk home.

It's only three blocks, but the way I feel, it might as well be three miles. Better start walking now, or it's only going to get worse.

I step out into the chilly air, zip up and put up my hood, and set out down the street back to my place. Every step is a battle. My body just doesn't want to move. Except when I have to cross the street, I am almost entirely focused on just putting one foot in front of the other without falling on my face. It seems like an eternity.

One block down, two more to go. I step up onto the curb, and continue trudging forward. The windows in the houses beside me are all darkened. Everyone else is all ready in bed. Even the yards are unlit. No one's porch lights are on. Shadows are starting to look creepy. I'm starting to think about all of the robberies we've had at neighborhood businesses this season. There haven't been muggings, but still... shadows are starting to look creepy.

I force my legs to work a little harder. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can rest. My thighs protest, and my hips sound off in agreement. I sound just like the crispy rice cereal I had for breakfast.

I still have 2 1/2 blocks to go. This sucks.

I'm so focused on my own movement, I barely notice and at first don't even register the movement beside a tall tree off to my right. I've passed it when I realize what I've ignored. I hear footsteps on the sidewalk behind me.

Crap. If I look back, I'm going to look paranoid. If I don't, I won't know who is behind me. I could change course, but there's no other route to my place. I'd end up walking a lot more, then having to loop around, and I don't think my legs can take that. Besides, this is the best lit part of the area. It's on a main street, not a side street.

The other walker seems to be matching my pace, right down to my uneven step. Until I started paying attention to the sound of those footsteps, I didn't even realize I was limping. Damn, I must look so vulnerable! Why didn't I call someone? I have friends who would have given me a ride.

Well, because it's rude to call people late at night, isn't it? I wasn't expecting this, so I didn't bother anyone.

I'm such a dumbass.

I feel like I'm being mocked. My stalker knows that I can hear those footsteps. When I pick up the pace, so does he. It's on. I might as well stop pretending to not know.

I turn and look, and am surprised to see that he's much further behind me than expected. I'm almost at the end of the second block, and he's still clear back by that tree. Maybe he's not following me after all. Maybe the weather is just affecting the acoustics, or something like that.

As the though goes through my head, my stalker lengthens his stride and begins to catch up. In the darkness, I can't see his face, or any other details, except that he's a big, tall guy with a coat that goes below the hips and has a hood, which he's wearing, casting a shadow over his face. On his feet are some kind of heavy soled boots. He's now advancing on me with a purpose. What is he going to do when he finds out I don't have any money?

Adrenalin shoots through my chest like fire. I turn and force my aching muscles to move. Each step is torture. I feel like I'm literally tearing my hips to shreds, but I'm running anyway. I try to scream, but I can't breathe. Behind me, I hear him catching up, but my body won't move any faster. I feel a sense of impending doom. I know this is going to hurt, but not how badly. My mind is racing, trying to figure a way out of it. I realize I'm going to have to fight.

As the thought hits me, so does he. One huge hand slams into my back, and I fall on my face, my hands, chin, my nose slamming into the pavement with a loud smacking sound. I roll over and try to kick him, but he's not there. Looking around wildly, I see him standing beyond my head. I still can't see his face. I scramble to get up, but he grabs the back of my coat and shoves me back down, face first into the sidewalk again. I'm no shortie - I'm 5' 9", but this guy makes me feel small. He's at least 7' tall, and has a good 40 pounds on me. I'm reduced to kicking and flailing uselessly, like a little kid. I feel my feet gain purchase on the sidewalk, and try to push away, but instead I feel the weight of my attacker on my back. He pushes me down, grabs my arms, and pins my hands to the ground beside my face.

I can feel his breath moving my hair. In my ear, a deep, but decidedly feminine voice says, "Do we have to do this every time?" And I realize that the chest pressed against my back is awfully soft for being a man's chest.

Oh, God. I'm being mugged by a 7 foot tall woman. I try to turn to get a look at her, but I can't move. I try to ask what she wants, but I can't breathe. My hands are pinned, and so are my legs, but the position she's in doesn't lend itself to any kind of action, unless she intends to start biting me, which she'd have done by now if that was the intention. My heart is pounding, and my whole body hurts. I figure she's waiting for me to signal surrender by not struggling any more.

I'm about to force myself to relax when I hear another voice from behind us. "You idiot. You're not going to get anything out of her that way. Cut it out." That one is male. I recognize it, but I can't remember from where. The sound of it scares the crap out of me, sending shivers through my entire body.

The shock of hearing that second voice, when I didn't even know he was there, woke me. It was dark, and my husband was in the room. He'd gotten up and gotten ready for work, and was about to leave. I was awake long enough for him to kiss me goodbye. I thought I'd get up, but it was only about four hours after I'd gotten to sleep. My head was heavy, and my body just didn't want to move. Even though the dream really freaked me out, I was so tired that I slipped back to sleep anyway. I drifted in and out for another two hours, until the light made sleep impossible. If it were dark, I could go back to sleep again right now.

I have really been feeling helpless lately, dealing with the crap I'm going through at work. This dream could be my mind's way of picking at that scab, but that doesn't explain the male voice and why it scared me so bad. I'm not sure what to think about that.

On a side note, this would never happen. My husband wouldn't let me walk home. If he came home from work and the van was still there, he'd come pick me up when my shift was over, not leave me to walk home in the dark. 

I'm getting a bad feeling about this

I'm at a party where everyone is dressed nice. It's not formal, just not an everyday hang-out, either. I've kind of blown off the dressing nice thing, but not really. I fit in (mostly) but I'm not in anything that isn't comfortable.

I don't want to be here. This isn't a party at a friend's house. I don't know everyone, or even most of the people here. I hate social situations like this, but I'm handling it. On the outside, I look pretty normal, just another guest at the party, chatting about inconsequential things with a group of people I never met before. On the inside, it's pure torture. I'm sure I'm going to say the wrong thing at some point and look completely stupid, give these people something to make fun of for the rest of their lives, and embarrass the crap out of the party's host.

I don't even know whose party this is, or why I'm here. I must have come with someone. I excuse myself from the group and begin looking around.

As I wander through different rooms, I realize I don't know anyone here. I recognize some faces as people I've seen before, but not as people I've hung out with. Why the heck am I even at this party?

A guy approaches me and puts a hand on my shoulder. He leans in like we're old pals, greets me warmly, and gives me a hug. He knows my name, but I don't know his. When he pulls me into the hug, he puts his face right next to my ear, and speaks quickly and quietly. "Don't look now, but there's a lady following you. She's been staring at you all night. She seems to be trying to pretend her movements are random, but she's definitely focused on you."

The guy steps back from the embrace, gives my arm a squeeze, and tells me it was good to see me again, and to give his regards to the family. I thank him and say I will, and admonish him to do the same. We walk away from each other. I duck between some people, and through a doorway into another room, where I step to the side and put my back against the wall. I figure I'll wait and see who comes through the doorway, but no one does. I peek around the corner.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and from behind me, a voice says, right into my ear, "You don't remember me, do you?"

I spin around to see who is behind me, but there's just groups of people talking to each other. I back into the wall again and look around, trying to see everywhere at once. I notice there's someone moving rapidly away from me across the room. I try to get through the crowd to see who it is, but suddenly people seem to be bent on getting in my way. All I can see is the top of a head with dark hair moving through the doorway on the other side of the room. As I watch, it appears that the dark was a shadow, and the hair is actually white.

I get about to the middle of the room when my "friend" from before grabs my arm. He gives me a serious look, and says, "You don't want to go there. You'll only end up in trouble again. Don't let your guard down, kid." This guy is noticeably younger than me. Why is he calling me kid?

Before I can do anything, it's all just gone. I find myself in an empty, deserted, old, decrepit house with no lights, no music, no party. The room has the same layout, even some of the same furniture, but it's all falling apart. I look around the room, but there's nothing else remarkable about it.

I'm suddenly very anxious, butterflies in my stomach, an electric feeling in my chest. I want out of here. Which way was the front room? I go back through the door that led me into this room, trying to retrace my steps, but after a few more rooms, I can't remember which way to go. There are no windows in the room I'm in. I think, if I just keep going the same direction, maybe I'll get to a room with an outside wall.

I start running. I can hear other footsteps, but I can't tell where they're coming from. Sometimes, it sounds like they're over my head. Other times, it sounds like they're behind me, but there's no one there when I look. I keep going straight, through several doorways. I come to a long hallway full of  doors, with a door at the end, and a stairway. At the top of the flight, there's a landing, and the stairs turn and continue up over my head. I can just see someone's shoes, and the long legs of a pair of wide-legged pants. A hand rests on the rail. It's impossible to tell whether the person is male or female. The fingernails aren't long or nicely manicured, but the fingers are kind of long.

The voice that was behind me at the party calls down, "You might as well come up now. You know there's no way out of here."

For some reason, I find that terribly offensive. It should be up to me, shouldn't it? I decide where I want to go and what I want to do, who I want to associate with, and so on. I look at the door, then back up the stairs. I don't want to go up there, but for some reason, I do feel kind of drawn in that direction. I'm pretty sure that when I get up there, I won't find the owner of the voice, though, and that annoys me.

I turn and walk toward the door. From behind me, I hear, "I see. You're going to make this difficult again, aren't you?"

When I woke from this, it was still dark. I felt like I'd been chastised, like a little kid who just ignored a lesson recently learned or well learned. I was still really annoyed, like someone had been pushing my buttons, even though it was just a dream. I was still really tired, too. When I went back to sleep, I dreamed again.

I'm outside in the dark, surrounded by trees and smaller plants. There's something pulling on my hair. I grab for whatever it is, and find my fingers wrapped around a wrist. I find the fingers and pry them loose, only to have something grab the front of my shirt, make a fist, and slam me against a tree. The back of my head hits hard, pain shooting forward into my sinuses.

I throw my arms up in front of my face, but whoever I'm fighting with is more interested in my ribs. The hand I pried off of my hair digs in, fingers pressing into my flesh as if to tickle, but I'm not ticklish there, just really over-sensitive. It hurts. I involuntarily collapse at the knees, pushing at my opponent's arms with my hands. A jolt of energy goes through my belly from those fingertips, making my insides feel watery. I shove the hand away and try to dodge to the side, only to feel the other hand gripping my hair again.

I kick at my assailant's knees, but I'm not hitting anything. I'm yelling and panting now, and I can feel bits of bark and leaves getting under my clothes. Ignoring the pull on my scalp, I try to wrench myself out of the person's grasp. I put both feet on the ground, lean away from the tree, and thrust. Instead of escape, I find myself in a wrestling match, with my left hand pinned to the ground by the wrist, my head turned to the side, and the hand that was in my hair pushing my cheek into the dirt. I try to roll to the left, but the weight on top of me is really heavy.

A feeling of desperation takes over. I can't move freely, but I can turn my head just enough. I sink my teeth into the edge of the hand that is holding me down. From the darkness above me, the voice from the previous dream shouts in pain. I taste the salty flavor of human skin, then blood. My attacker jerks back away from me momentarily, letting go of my wrist, and pulling out of the grip of my teeth. I draw my knees up to my chin and thrust both feet out in front of me. I hit something - it feels like someone's chest - and then I hear a body hit another tree. There is a loud grunt in that same voice. I scramble to run away, but I hear footsteps coming after me.

I know I can't outrun whoever this is. My body aches from hitting the tree and the ground. My ribs are sore from being poked. I can barely stand up. I know I can pull energy. I'm in the woods. I gather what I can, with the lack of focus I'm experiencing right now. When I do, the footsteps stop, just short of the distance I can see. From the darkness, I hear that voice again. It sounds surprised and amused. "Are you serious? Who do you think you are?"

There is a blinding light in front of me. I know it's coming. I panic, and release everything at once, pushing an unfocused blast outward before me. I feel disconnected from everything, like I'm floating. In the distance, I hear that voice bust into a tirade of cussing.

I woke with sunlight in my face. I slept until well after sunrise. I don't do that very much - I'm still used to when I had to get up at 3:30 A.M. for work every day. It feels weird for it to be so late. I don't know what to think about this dream. I'll have to figure it out later, though. I have to go to work today.
This is going to really suck. I'm in so much pain right now.

Stairmaster

Merry Christmas! Weirdness abounds. Last night, after working a very stressful 9 hour, 15 minute shift that was supposed to just be an 8 hour shift, I came home both exhausted and wired. I couldn't go to sleep when my husband was ready for bed. I was up until after 2 A.M., so I slept downstairs on the couch. 

All night, I kept dreaming that I wanted to be upstairs with him, so I'd get up off of the couch, go up the stairs, and stand outside the open bedroom door. He was quiet until I'd step through the threshold. When I would step inside, he'd start making noises like I was disturbing his sleep. I'd decide not to bug him, and go back down the stairs. After a few moments on the couch, I'd feel the pull again, and really want to be up there. I did this at least 4 times. It was really vivid and real to me, and the only reason I know it was a dream is that my husband told me today that the bedroom door had been shut all night.


I guess this falls into the category of stress nightmare - doing the same damned futile thing over and over again. I'll be sleeping upstairs tonight. Hopefully I won't have the same stupid dream again!

On a side note, I must have moved somewhat in response to the dream. My legs are really sore today, and I'm almost as tired as if I hadn't slept at all.

Mugged

It's been about two days since I had this one. I think it's weird enough for here, but I wanted to see how my "story" from it would go on Reddit's /r/nosleep forum first. I wrote it from the point of view of one of the dream characters. I like the way it turned out. As for the dream, I was kind of a watcher in this one. I saw it from the perspective of about 15 to 20 feet above the ground, behind the male character. I couldn't do anything to affect the actions taking place before me, no matter how badly I wanted to.


She's walking on the left side of the street. There are a lot of buildings. It looks like it used to be the good downtown area, but is now the poor, crime-ridden section of this city. Everything looks like it was once fancy, but now it's run-down, falling apart - buildings losing paint (or even bricks), cracks in the windows, holes boarded up, and so on. The sidewalk isn't in great shape, either, and the lighting is kind of iffy.

She really looks out of place here, and very vulnerable. She can't be more than twenty years old, and she doesn't look very tough. She's actually kind of small, and thin.

She's not dressed for this neighborhood, either. Her hair is too nicely styled, and her clothes are just plainly too nice. Her thin silky blouse hangs just right, and clings just right. Her skirt, though a bit short, looks like it belongs on someone in an office instead of someone walking on this street. Even her boots are inappropriate, pointy-toed little suede numbers with high heels, definitely not made to handle broken up concrete.

He steps out of the shadows about fifteen feet behind her, after she walks past the place where he was hiding. I didn't even see him until this moment. Watching her like a cat stalking a mouse, he glides forward and quietly matches her pace. He tails her for a few yards, then speeds up a bit to get closer. Quiet as he is, she seems to notice. She doesn't turn to look, just picks up her pace and holds her purse a little closer. I can feel that she is nervous, but she doesn't want to broadcast that. It occurs to me that she should forget about that concern, and just get the heck out of here.

I want to fix this. I know the guy is going to do some dastardly thing to her, definitely mug her, probably worse. He looks nasty, dirty, and mean.

I focus on getting down there to defend her, but it doesn't happen. I'm still floating.

I try to make fire come out of my hands and shoot at the stalker, but I can't. My hands won't even move.

I imagine the police pulling up.

They don't.

I mentally picture her turning around and beating the crap out of the guy with her purse.

She doesn't.

Instead, she speeds up again. He gets closer. I know she can hear him behind her.

Finally, she panics and runs. Her boots don't handle that at all, and she stumbles and trips down the street, really not moving any faster than before. The mugger tackles her, one hand over her mouth, and drags her into an alley. She fights back, kicking and squealing, but he's bigger and stronger. As soon as they're off of the street, he slams her to the ground and pins her with his body.

He asks what a spoiled little bitch like her "is even doing around here."

Instead of answering him, she suddenly and rapidly opens her mouth impossibly wide to reveal huge barracuda teeth, which she immediately sinks into the mugger's throat as her eyes turn deep red. I can hear the sound of the bite from my vantage point, almost like someone biting into a really juicy apple. It's so quick, I almost don't register what just happened. When I do, it's such a surprise that I jump.

That startled me awake. It was just a little after midnight. At first, I felt kind of vindicated... like the mugger got exactly what he deserved, given his intentions. Then, my mind worked on it a little, thinking what if that girl was a predator, and that was the plan the whole time? Maybe she used her appearance as bate to lure out a lowlife that no one would miss, then ate him. 
Since I couldn't sleep, I got up and wrote this post on /r/nosleep. I wasn't expecting anyone to notice or like it, because it was short. I was surprised to get some upvotes and responses. Anyway, maybe I'll try making fiction out of some of my other dreams. I kind of like that idea.

Rebel without a clue

I am in some kind of a secret commune with at least a hundred other people. It's right in the middle of a densely populated city, but only those who live there know about it.

I know some people, but others I don't. We're safe in this area, but outside of it we're subject to a dictatorial, malevolent government of some kind.

I've just come back from some kind of a raid in which I've obtained photos of a popular star, some belongings of my family, and a processed food that is so extremely nutritious that if a broth is made by boiling a small piece if it in a huge pot of water, each serving would be as fortifying to the body as an entire meal. Anything added to the broth for bulk and flavor would absorb the nutrients, making the resulting stew extremely satisfying. I have gotten enough of the processed food item to last us through the entire winter. The piece is just slightly larger than a grapefruit.

I give the items obtained for the community to the leader, a middle-aged woman who is very happy to receive them. She starts to give me praise, but I'm embarrassed and tell her to stop. I say I'd rather not stand out, and have people talking about my trip, and I ask her to not make a big deal about it. She says ok, but still gives me a hug and a thank-you. It's better than being singled out and stared at, so I hug back and tell her let me know if she needs anything else done. She says she'll call on me when I am needed. I leave her rooms feeling very positive; accomplished and appreciated.

I place my family's things in our rooms, then go back out. There is some reason why I have to go out into the city, just outside the complex, on an errand. I step out and walk a couple of blocks. Now I'm in an area that borders on a downtown area with two and three story buildings.

I discover that the "fronts" of the buildings are lined with men hung up on the walls, and lined up on balconies or in front of open windows. This is something new, but I can tell from people's averted gazes that it's not new to them. At first, I think the men on the walls are dead. Then I realize they're alive, and being tortured. Some of them are just hanging up, but some are being electrocuted, or subjected to substances or devices that burn or otherwise inflict pain or discomfort. They're on display as an example to everyone, but each is being tortured as punishment for something to do with himself.

I have no knowledge of why they're being punished, and can only guess that they did something really illegal. However, they all look like regular guys. There are way too many of them to all be thieves or rapists or anything like that. I ask someone what they did, and all I get is a terrified stare before she bolts away from me. A young man approaches, draws me into an alley, and whispers to me that they're all considered enemies of the state, all for little things they did like choosing a color to paint their houses without consulting anyone, or for things over which they had no control, like becoming disabled after catching a stray bullet during a conflict between rebels and state police. He tells me not to ask questions in public, or I'll end up on the wall with those guys.

This pisses me off. I tell the guy thanks for the info, and then tell him he might want to be somewhere else. I start pulling energy from the ground around me. I can feel it flowing into my body from under the bricks that line the alley. I think of laying on a grassy hill on a breezy day in the summertime, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, but still kept comfortable by the breeze. The energy takes on a warm, positive glow. I direct it at the men on the wall, and whisper "relief."

I see a wave of energy going out from me, looking like heat waves coming off of the hood of a car that's been running for a while. It hits the men, and they all relax. The men on the balconies begin removing the devices, helping to get the guys off of the walls, and turning towards the rooms behind them. I hear shouting from inside.

"What the hell? What do you think you're doing? You're going to regret this!"

I continue to draw energy, changing my thoughts. I focus on my anger, letting myself feel like I need to punch someone. I'm drawing energy from the stones in the buildings around me, where the emotions of the tortured men have left their mark. I direct this at the guards "tending" the men, and I whisper "torture the torturers."

I see twelve big men in odd uniforms that look something of a cross between security guard uniforms, and some kind of spiky S&M get-up. They have rushed the balcony of the building directly across from me. They're beating on the relieved victims. When I whisper, I see the energy flow out from me. It's like seeing a current of hot water moving in a body of cold water. It rushes across the street and hits the guards. They twist and contort, screaming. One falls over the balcony and lands on the pavement. I can hear similar screams coming from the other buildings, and I know that the energy has hit all of the guards.

The guys begin collecting everyone and head into the rooms. I know they're going to come out of those buildings and have to go into hiding. I send a mental message to one of them to find me in the alley. If we run through to the other end, we can quickly get out of this neighborhood, and I can have them hidden before any authorities come along. My contact shouts to the other guys to follow him, and they do.

I realize that if I'm going to bring a bunch more people into the commune, even though there is room for them and work for them, I'm going to have to get more processed food. I start mentally preparing for another raid.