(no subject)
It starts off in our basement; it now has beige carpet, a huge fireplace with a large rock mantel, and a large, pretty entertainment shelf with pretty floral painting on the bottom.
Then suddenly, I'm in this quirky, punkish kind of restaurant. I'm in a stall in their restrooms, and I see that there's a small T.V., turned on its side, above the toilet paper dispenser; Dora the Explorer is on.
The dream changes again, and now I'm Laura Ingalls. My father (Charles) had apparently comitted some sort of crime or something, for he's been crucified; I can only watch helplessly from the ground as he grunts in pain. [The vividity of this is amazing: I can see the beads of sweat rolling down his tanned face, shining in the beating sun; I can see the plaid pattern in his red cotton shirt.] Suddenly, once again, the dream switches; my father is challenged to a duel, and regardless of his wounds, he must fight, for his honor.
Well, I, ever being the stupid spitfire, grab my dog and follow my "Pa." I see him running as fast as he can so not to be late for the duel. But my dog and I speed up, and suddenly, we're racing in a blur and pass my Pa; I momentarily turn into this charging girl-wolf, side by side with my dog, and I can feel my claws extending and gripping the earth as I run, then releasing, then gripping, and so on and so forth, as I run.
The malicious opponent is there, right where he said to meet, and I approach him most casually.
"Whatchu doin' herr, girl?" he hisses with a western drawl.
"Don't you hurt my Pa," I say boldly.
"Yeah? Whaddyu gon' do about it?"
"Go back home, Cassie," Pa says [though why he calls me this and not Laura I don't know].
The opponent suddenly raises his hand to strike my dog, who all this while had been snarling and growling at his dusty boots. "You touch my dog, and I swear-!" I hiss. Suddenly, he shoots at us; I grab my dog close and throw us to the ground. We slide and tumble over the hot road, and I, all the while, clutch him close.
The dream once again changes. Now, I'm with my mom and my friend, Courtney. We're in this lush, green valley, and all around us are people, hundreds of different people - people we know, people we've never seen before. And everyone's different: blacks, whites, Asian, old, young.
Suddenly, as I'm looking around, I see a river to one side of the valley, and there are people wading in it, people dressed in old-timey clothes, mostly from the early 1900's - and they're monochrome, and nearly completely see-through.
"We're in the Land of the Dead. All these people are dead," I say. "And those," I point to the people in the river, "those people are fading. They're fading away."
Again, the dream changes; the river becomes the ocean, and we - my mom, Courtney, and myself - are on a roofed pier. Again, there are people everywhere, so everywhere we would turn, we would bump into someone.
Well, we're looking over into the water, and suddenly, my mom exclaims, "A shark! I think I saw a shark!" I look closer and, indeed, I see the silhouette in the water of a large... something. But suddenly, out of the water and onto the pier it flies, and it's a dolphin! We all gasp and jump back, but it only flops back into the water. But not a minute later, it's back on the pier, and with a laugh I touch its smooth, wet head.
All of a sudden, the dolphin turns into a small Indian boy! His brother is on the outside of the pier, holding on to the railings; he is his little brother's trainer. The two are an act on the pier, for the pier is filled with streetside performers, and all these people were the audience. [Little details fill this part of the dream, such as the merchandise I see being sold here and there on the pier. But nothing extraordinary.]
There were other strange parts of my dreams, and, just like the others, they were all so vivid and detailed! My return to my school in Georgia, in which I could taste the very food we were served for lunch, or see the colors of my old friends' eyes; being some 18th century king who would force his women followers to do terrible things, even inflict terrible inhumanities upon their little babies [I could see the blue in her taffeta dress, the crimson blood I wiped from my blade with my handkerchief, the hair atop the newborn's head]; going to some newly built house in my neighborhood with Courtney and Katie, telling Katie to put on her gloves so she didn't catch a cold [I could see our morning shadows, our breath hitting the chilly air...]. There were others, but they were stupid.
Then suddenly, I'm in this quirky, punkish kind of restaurant. I'm in a stall in their restrooms, and I see that there's a small T.V., turned on its side, above the toilet paper dispenser; Dora the Explorer is on.
The dream changes again, and now I'm Laura Ingalls. My father (Charles) had apparently comitted some sort of crime or something, for he's been crucified; I can only watch helplessly from the ground as he grunts in pain. [The vividity of this is amazing: I can see the beads of sweat rolling down his tanned face, shining in the beating sun; I can see the plaid pattern in his red cotton shirt.] Suddenly, once again, the dream switches; my father is challenged to a duel, and regardless of his wounds, he must fight, for his honor.
Well, I, ever being the stupid spitfire, grab my dog and follow my "Pa." I see him running as fast as he can so not to be late for the duel. But my dog and I speed up, and suddenly, we're racing in a blur and pass my Pa; I momentarily turn into this charging girl-wolf, side by side with my dog, and I can feel my claws extending and gripping the earth as I run, then releasing, then gripping, and so on and so forth, as I run.
The malicious opponent is there, right where he said to meet, and I approach him most casually.
"Whatchu doin' herr, girl?" he hisses with a western drawl.
"Don't you hurt my Pa," I say boldly.
"Yeah? Whaddyu gon' do about it?"
"Go back home, Cassie," Pa says [though why he calls me this and not Laura I don't know].
The opponent suddenly raises his hand to strike my dog, who all this while had been snarling and growling at his dusty boots. "You touch my dog, and I swear-!" I hiss. Suddenly, he shoots at us; I grab my dog close and throw us to the ground. We slide and tumble over the hot road, and I, all the while, clutch him close.
The dream once again changes. Now, I'm with my mom and my friend, Courtney. We're in this lush, green valley, and all around us are people, hundreds of different people - people we know, people we've never seen before. And everyone's different: blacks, whites, Asian, old, young.
Suddenly, as I'm looking around, I see a river to one side of the valley, and there are people wading in it, people dressed in old-timey clothes, mostly from the early 1900's - and they're monochrome, and nearly completely see-through.
"We're in the Land of the Dead. All these people are dead," I say. "And those," I point to the people in the river, "those people are fading. They're fading away."
Again, the dream changes; the river becomes the ocean, and we - my mom, Courtney, and myself - are on a roofed pier. Again, there are people everywhere, so everywhere we would turn, we would bump into someone.
Well, we're looking over into the water, and suddenly, my mom exclaims, "A shark! I think I saw a shark!" I look closer and, indeed, I see the silhouette in the water of a large... something. But suddenly, out of the water and onto the pier it flies, and it's a dolphin! We all gasp and jump back, but it only flops back into the water. But not a minute later, it's back on the pier, and with a laugh I touch its smooth, wet head.
All of a sudden, the dolphin turns into a small Indian boy! His brother is on the outside of the pier, holding on to the railings; he is his little brother's trainer. The two are an act on the pier, for the pier is filled with streetside performers, and all these people were the audience. [Little details fill this part of the dream, such as the merchandise I see being sold here and there on the pier. But nothing extraordinary.]
There were other strange parts of my dreams, and, just like the others, they were all so vivid and detailed! My return to my school in Georgia, in which I could taste the very food we were served for lunch, or see the colors of my old friends' eyes; being some 18th century king who would force his women followers to do terrible things, even inflict terrible inhumanities upon their little babies [I could see the blue in her taffeta dress, the crimson blood I wiped from my blade with my handkerchief, the hair atop the newborn's head]; going to some newly built house in my neighborhood with Courtney and Katie, telling Katie to put on her gloves so she didn't catch a cold [I could see our morning shadows, our breath hitting the chilly air...]. There were others, but they were stupid.