a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad dream
I admit, I have weird dreams. Occasionally, they're bad, but mostly they're just bizarre. A few days ago, my fingers turned into pickles. Another night, my best friend drank a vat of green Mexican liquor and disappeared. But last night, oh lord... not fun.
I'm young, probably early high school. We are at home, in the house I grew up in. It's raining heavily, and the power had gone out, so we're all upstairs sitting at the kitchen table with flashlights playing games. I get up for something, look out the back door, and exclaim "Holy shit! The water's up to the porch!" Mom rushes over and freaks out. We run over to the stairs, which you can't see from the kitchen table, and discover that the water has gotten in the house and has come almost to the top of them. The lower story is completely underwater. "Hurry," mom shouts to my brothers, "get the emergency kits!"
But the kits are downstairs, and at least water-logged, if not entirely useless, and how are we supposed to get them? My backpack is in my mom's room, where dad is listening to his short-wave radio. I rush to get it, and suggest my brothers grab pillowcases and fill them with whatever non-perishables they can. I dump my school books out of the pack, leaving only my Swiss Army knife and a mag lite inside. I'm running back to the kitchen, dad behind me, announcing that we have to leave, that they've called for an emergency evacuation and we have to get downtown. But how are we going to get out of the house when it's flooded? Much less drive the car? "Don't worry," he tells us, "the water is already receding and it will go out of the house when we open the door." He swims down the stairs to prove it.
While he's doing so, I notice my cat, Khensu (my current baby), trying to swim to safety. He must have been downstairs himself. I grab him, wrap him in a towel, and put him in my backpack. I then fetch a few cans of evaporated milk and put that in my pack as well. I'm heading out the door and see a tiny kitten floating in a pool of flood water. I fish it out (he's fine, just freaked out), then notice that the mama cat --a made-up black kitty who is apparently named Sharon-- has been giving birth to her litter during the flood, from stress-induced labor I imagine. I see that Jon has found a large tote bag, and rather than fill it up with food, I suggest he line it with towels and put Sharon and the kittens inside.
Side note: the kittens were a black and white tortoiseshell swirl, only some of them had hot pink instead of white.
Then we all pile into the car (which, incidentally, was the Ford F150 crew cab that David drives now and not a car we ever actually owned) and head downtown. "Downtown" was a mix between Denver and LA, and we were told to go to the convention center where they had an emergency shelter set up. We are directed to a parking structure, and the woman giving directions sees K's head poking out of my bag and tells us there are no animals allowed. We think it's bullshit, but Jon and I volunteer to sleep in the truck with the cats to keep them safe. Sharon just had kittens, afterall. So we agree to meet back at the truck and reassess the situation in the morning, and everyone else starts inside (which, when I think about it, was just mom and dad and I don't know where the rest of my brothers were at this point).
Jon and I are hanging out in the truck for an unspecified amount of time, eating granola bars and telling stories and naming kittens. We hear this serious commotion out on the freeway, so we get out of the car (cats in tow, just in case) and walk up the on-ramp to discover a crazy riot has broken out between the people who are just now seeking shelter and safety and those that have been living in the streets for the last few weeks. I guess there was some sort of natural disaster that we didn't have to deal with out in the boonies? We're walking around, skirting fights, trying to figure out what on earth is going on and if we need to grab the rest of the family and bolt, when some guy with a tire iron in his hand notices Khensu in my pack and tells me that I'll "find out soon enough that cats actually taste pretty good". WTF?! "C'mon, give me the cat and I won't hurt you," and he's so obviously lying, but he lowers the tire iron and holds out his hand for my backpack. I tell him to fuck off and clutch my pack and cat closer. He sees the bulge of the milk cans and his eyes get all big. I start to back away, slowly, hoping not to draw any more attention, but the guy yells "SHE'S STEALING OUR FOOD!" and people turn to look at me. I quickly put my pack on backwards, so K is on the front. I turn to Jon --they don't know he has cats-- grab onto him, and whisper "RUN! Go to mom and dad! Keep the cats covered!" before taking off myself into the deserted forest of high-rises.
I'm running as fast as I can, having zipped my cat all the way in so he doesn't accidentally fall out while we're on the move, slipping into alleys and trying to evade the angry mob close on my tail. I notice storefronts and grocers, all intact, no signs of forced entry or pillaging, and wonder to myself what the bloody hell kind of people would chase a girl for her cat when they could just break a window and have access to all the food they need?! I spot a public restroom on the bottom floor of an office building and duck in. There are people squatting there, but they don't know what's going on, K is safely zipped in my bag, and there's no light save a few guttering candles, so it's relatively safe. But I can hear the crazy people looking for me and shouting, piquing the interest of those in the loo. I manage to find an unoccupied stall at the end and, as quietly as I can, jab at the tile in the ceiling until I pop it off and can climb up into the crawl-space. I try to replace the tile so no one notices, and, moving as stealthily as possible, pull the torch out of my pack and make my way through this weird sort of attic walkway that connects all the rooms in the building. I'm climbing up random ladders and elevator shafts, frantic, moving between empty offices, abandoned hallways, and crawlspaces. I can hear people breaking down walls and ceilings and running around on the stairs trying to find me.
I realise that I'm surrounded, and they're probably going to find me soon if I don't hide. I crawl into a dark corner of some storage area, between broken copy machines and filing cabinets and trash cans, pushing myself as far back as I can and putting as many things between me and the open space as possible. There are cobwebs and little air, but I feel less panicked now that I have a hiding spot. I hear people on the floor, see flashlight beams swinging, try to slow my breathing and hold still. The last thing I remember before waking up was unzipping my pack to hold my cat close, promising him that no one was going to eat him and that I would suffocate him and hide his body before I let them hurt him. . .
I'm young, probably early high school. We are at home, in the house I grew up in. It's raining heavily, and the power had gone out, so we're all upstairs sitting at the kitchen table with flashlights playing games. I get up for something, look out the back door, and exclaim "Holy shit! The water's up to the porch!" Mom rushes over and freaks out. We run over to the stairs, which you can't see from the kitchen table, and discover that the water has gotten in the house and has come almost to the top of them. The lower story is completely underwater. "Hurry," mom shouts to my brothers, "get the emergency kits!"
But the kits are downstairs, and at least water-logged, if not entirely useless, and how are we supposed to get them? My backpack is in my mom's room, where dad is listening to his short-wave radio. I rush to get it, and suggest my brothers grab pillowcases and fill them with whatever non-perishables they can. I dump my school books out of the pack, leaving only my Swiss Army knife and a mag lite inside. I'm running back to the kitchen, dad behind me, announcing that we have to leave, that they've called for an emergency evacuation and we have to get downtown. But how are we going to get out of the house when it's flooded? Much less drive the car? "Don't worry," he tells us, "the water is already receding and it will go out of the house when we open the door." He swims down the stairs to prove it.
While he's doing so, I notice my cat, Khensu (my current baby), trying to swim to safety. He must have been downstairs himself. I grab him, wrap him in a towel, and put him in my backpack. I then fetch a few cans of evaporated milk and put that in my pack as well. I'm heading out the door and see a tiny kitten floating in a pool of flood water. I fish it out (he's fine, just freaked out), then notice that the mama cat --a made-up black kitty who is apparently named Sharon-- has been giving birth to her litter during the flood, from stress-induced labor I imagine. I see that Jon has found a large tote bag, and rather than fill it up with food, I suggest he line it with towels and put Sharon and the kittens inside.
Side note: the kittens were a black and white tortoiseshell swirl, only some of them had hot pink instead of white.
Then we all pile into the car (which, incidentally, was the Ford F150 crew cab that David drives now and not a car we ever actually owned) and head downtown. "Downtown" was a mix between Denver and LA, and we were told to go to the convention center where they had an emergency shelter set up. We are directed to a parking structure, and the woman giving directions sees K's head poking out of my bag and tells us there are no animals allowed. We think it's bullshit, but Jon and I volunteer to sleep in the truck with the cats to keep them safe. Sharon just had kittens, afterall. So we agree to meet back at the truck and reassess the situation in the morning, and everyone else starts inside (which, when I think about it, was just mom and dad and I don't know where the rest of my brothers were at this point).
Jon and I are hanging out in the truck for an unspecified amount of time, eating granola bars and telling stories and naming kittens. We hear this serious commotion out on the freeway, so we get out of the car (cats in tow, just in case) and walk up the on-ramp to discover a crazy riot has broken out between the people who are just now seeking shelter and safety and those that have been living in the streets for the last few weeks. I guess there was some sort of natural disaster that we didn't have to deal with out in the boonies? We're walking around, skirting fights, trying to figure out what on earth is going on and if we need to grab the rest of the family and bolt, when some guy with a tire iron in his hand notices Khensu in my pack and tells me that I'll "find out soon enough that cats actually taste pretty good". WTF?! "C'mon, give me the cat and I won't hurt you," and he's so obviously lying, but he lowers the tire iron and holds out his hand for my backpack. I tell him to fuck off and clutch my pack and cat closer. He sees the bulge of the milk cans and his eyes get all big. I start to back away, slowly, hoping not to draw any more attention, but the guy yells "SHE'S STEALING OUR FOOD!" and people turn to look at me. I quickly put my pack on backwards, so K is on the front. I turn to Jon --they don't know he has cats-- grab onto him, and whisper "RUN! Go to mom and dad! Keep the cats covered!" before taking off myself into the deserted forest of high-rises.
I'm running as fast as I can, having zipped my cat all the way in so he doesn't accidentally fall out while we're on the move, slipping into alleys and trying to evade the angry mob close on my tail. I notice storefronts and grocers, all intact, no signs of forced entry or pillaging, and wonder to myself what the bloody hell kind of people would chase a girl for her cat when they could just break a window and have access to all the food they need?! I spot a public restroom on the bottom floor of an office building and duck in. There are people squatting there, but they don't know what's going on, K is safely zipped in my bag, and there's no light save a few guttering candles, so it's relatively safe. But I can hear the crazy people looking for me and shouting, piquing the interest of those in the loo. I manage to find an unoccupied stall at the end and, as quietly as I can, jab at the tile in the ceiling until I pop it off and can climb up into the crawl-space. I try to replace the tile so no one notices, and, moving as stealthily as possible, pull the torch out of my pack and make my way through this weird sort of attic walkway that connects all the rooms in the building. I'm climbing up random ladders and elevator shafts, frantic, moving between empty offices, abandoned hallways, and crawlspaces. I can hear people breaking down walls and ceilings and running around on the stairs trying to find me.
I realise that I'm surrounded, and they're probably going to find me soon if I don't hide. I crawl into a dark corner of some storage area, between broken copy machines and filing cabinets and trash cans, pushing myself as far back as I can and putting as many things between me and the open space as possible. There are cobwebs and little air, but I feel less panicked now that I have a hiding spot. I hear people on the floor, see flashlight beams swinging, try to slow my breathing and hold still. The last thing I remember before waking up was unzipping my pack to hold my cat close, promising him that no one was going to eat him and that I would suffocate him and hide his body before I let them hurt him. . .