Catching up
I
3.?.04
The ghost of a young black boy was inhabiting my house. He was sinister and impishly playful. I hated him, I wanted him gone.
Somehow, I had chased him into my front yard. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he had managed to dash back into my house. I was more than enraged. I stomped into my house, and at the foot of the stairs, I began to bellow with all the strength I had, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!" He giggled.
So I stomped up the stairs, saw him, and advanced full-on. I chased him into my parents' bathroom (and this is where the dream gets very vivid), where I cornered him. He looked frantically back and forth, looking for an escape. I began to hit him wildly. I didn't care that he was a child. I loathed him.
That's it.
II
3.20.04
I was living in a long, gray old house, or what was once an inn. My fiery red hair was done up in the old fashioned poofy buns from the early 1900's, and my dress followed the same time period. Although the house was dirty and drab on the outside, the inside was clean and tidy and warm; the sunlight sifted through the shutters and fell onto the clean wooden floor beautifully.
Apparently, though, there were haunts residing in the house. I had had my fill, and had called upon an "expert" of sorts. It was David Talbot, still in his old mortal body; his hair was ashen white, his eyes were dark, and we wore a khaki overcoat. He walked into my house, and was amazed by the cleanliness of the inside. Automatically, he went straight to work and began to walk about the room with some sort of device in hand.
"You're with the Talamasca, aren't you?" I asked him.
"Yes, sort of," he nodded. He then told me the specifics of his job, and how he was "sort of" part of them.
Suddenly, something happened, and we were quite aware the ghost was around; "aH-aH-aH" was written on the window on the wall across from us (and we inferred it, of course, meant "Ha-Ha-Ha"). I, scared to death, ran and clung to David. He told me to go and find others.
So I dashed out of the house and into the dusty road, then straight to the restaurant beside us. I tapped on the window frantically, where a table of black men and women sat. I screamed and tapped, but none of them acknowledged me. I realized at that moment that they couldn't hear me; they too weren't of this world. Suddenly, their dress dawned on me: the women wore cloths wrapped tightly about their heads, and around their wastes, apron's; the men wore dirtied rags - they were slaves! 'Remnants of the past, figments of history,' the dream whispered to me.
Suddenly, the dream flips. I'm in a costume shop, and I'm digging through the discount pile. My eye catches a beautiful plastic bag filled with an 18th century man's costume. And only $4.00! I snatched it up.
...the dream ended. :\
[Edit] No, I remember something else. Cradling someone's head, stroking their hair, telling them repeatedly, "I'm sorry." I can't tell if it's a fantasy or a dream, though who can ever tell?
3.?.04
The ghost of a young black boy was inhabiting my house. He was sinister and impishly playful. I hated him, I wanted him gone.
Somehow, I had chased him into my front yard. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he had managed to dash back into my house. I was more than enraged. I stomped into my house, and at the foot of the stairs, I began to bellow with all the strength I had, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!" He giggled.
So I stomped up the stairs, saw him, and advanced full-on. I chased him into my parents' bathroom (and this is where the dream gets very vivid), where I cornered him. He looked frantically back and forth, looking for an escape. I began to hit him wildly. I didn't care that he was a child. I loathed him.
That's it.
II
3.20.04
I was living in a long, gray old house, or what was once an inn. My fiery red hair was done up in the old fashioned poofy buns from the early 1900's, and my dress followed the same time period. Although the house was dirty and drab on the outside, the inside was clean and tidy and warm; the sunlight sifted through the shutters and fell onto the clean wooden floor beautifully.
Apparently, though, there were haunts residing in the house. I had had my fill, and had called upon an "expert" of sorts. It was David Talbot, still in his old mortal body; his hair was ashen white, his eyes were dark, and we wore a khaki overcoat. He walked into my house, and was amazed by the cleanliness of the inside. Automatically, he went straight to work and began to walk about the room with some sort of device in hand.
"You're with the Talamasca, aren't you?" I asked him.
"Yes, sort of," he nodded. He then told me the specifics of his job, and how he was "sort of" part of them.
Suddenly, something happened, and we were quite aware the ghost was around; "aH-aH-aH" was written on the window on the wall across from us (and we inferred it, of course, meant "Ha-Ha-Ha"). I, scared to death, ran and clung to David. He told me to go and find others.
So I dashed out of the house and into the dusty road, then straight to the restaurant beside us. I tapped on the window frantically, where a table of black men and women sat. I screamed and tapped, but none of them acknowledged me. I realized at that moment that they couldn't hear me; they too weren't of this world. Suddenly, their dress dawned on me: the women wore cloths wrapped tightly about their heads, and around their wastes, apron's; the men wore dirtied rags - they were slaves! 'Remnants of the past, figments of history,' the dream whispered to me.
Suddenly, the dream flips. I'm in a costume shop, and I'm digging through the discount pile. My eye catches a beautiful plastic bag filled with an 18th century man's costume. And only $4.00! I snatched it up.
...the dream ended. :\
[Edit] No, I remember something else. Cradling someone's head, stroking their hair, telling them repeatedly, "I'm sorry." I can't tell if it's a fantasy or a dream, though who can ever tell?