#16 – Just Plain Horror

Dream from January 13, 2014

What a horrible dream (or nightmare) this turned out to be…

I am standing behind the counter of the Erie Road house, preparing a meal consisting of a full-grown dog, black hound to be exact. There are other dead dogs on the kitchen floor; some are mangled, missing the middle, with just tendons and ligaments sticking out all over the place.

I see myself struggling to pick up a dog off the floor. It’s so floppy and I am afraid the whole thing will break apart so I try to lift it by the head. Jack is on the other side of the counter; me in the kitchen.

“Trying to put some dog in this food”, I say.

“That sounds good. You’re a good cook”, Jack replies.

I finally get the dilapidated dog on the counter in a jumbled heap.

~~~

Lastly, I am chasing some animals, squirrels I believe, through the snowy woods, which reminds me of the scene in The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey with a hobbit running his sled dogs or whatever they were through the forest.

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#15 – The Two Rooms

Dream from September 25, 2014

After easing into my rapidly deteriorating dream state, tonight I am in my current house at the end of the dark hall…

There are two rooms on either side; one is my actual room and the other is my sisters; it is a debate in my head between going in one or the other. When I enter the room on the right, the door suddenly breaks off its hinges and hangs there. The first thing I see is an open fridge without the freezer on top. Dad has his head in it and is eyeing some donuts on the top door shelf. I grab a sticky chocolate one at the same time he does. I now look at the hanging door and don’t believe I can stay in this room. I discuss it with my parents. They tell me to go try the other room across the hall.

As I stand in the foyer of the first room, I feel a lot more content while staring into the main entrance on the right. Mom is standing behind me in the hallway and seems happy as well. I walk into the room and start admiring the square pictures and notes on the walls, some of them featuring moments from my childhood, stuff dedicated to me. On the first wall to the left as I enter the domain is a corkboard with an open card tacked to it:

Happy Birthday, Matt

Mike

“Mike” is written in my dad’s handwriting but I still think it is from my Uncle Mike. As I walk further on towards the end of the room, I see a message on the wall from a Kaley, and I immediately think it is from Kaley Cuoco (my mind conjures up an image as well).

Soon, as I turn to the right wall behind me, I come to a note talking about a writing program that is trying to get to D.C and get accepted to write articles for the United States government. The note also says they need volunteers and I feel terrible for not seeing this earlier. Then I am taken out of my room and end up inside an indoor football field. Barack Obama and his crew are standing on the far right side of the field (near my right eye) and on the left side, the ‘writers’ are buried underground and sticking their arms out the soil into the air, trying to get Obama’s attention. Obviously Barack doesn’t notice them and has a smug grin on his face.

#14 – The Chase

Dream from September 14, 2014

Last night I had one of the most crazy and downright scary dreams in my life. Two people wanted to kill me but I alluded them miraculously. It was so vivid and intense and shocked the hell out of me quite a bit. This is one of the first dreams I had where the “plot” seemed to be consistent throughout the entire sequence.

It all went like this:

Two guys begin to chase the hell out of me and a girl that’s my friend, with guns. It starts out with us running down the familiar long stretch of Erie Road in the countryside. Then we are in a car heading towards a curve and suddenly we end up walking down a busy street, Price Street in Jackson to be exact, on the left side. Turning to the left and walking down Hobart Street we see some guys parked in a VW Beetle on the right and they look in our direction, a malevolent expression instantly appearing on their faces. We hide to the side of a bus parked on the opposite side of the street. For a while we wait there while the men try to figure out where we went to, thinking to ourselves, “They surely wouldn’t think about looking over here by the bus”. After about a minute, we quietly move to the grille of the bus and have a peek around at the VW and then hide again. Then two tall dark figures suddenly appear behind us and we react on instinct, running away down Hobart Street as the mobsters start shooting…

The dream then shifts to where we are in a mobile home park, presumably Arbor Village, where I used to live. One of the men is white; the other looks Mexican/Hispanic. My friend and I are running down the street, the men shooting at us. One guy, the Mexican, runs out of bullets and begins to load another mag, discarding the empty one to the ground. Then it is just me, my partner disappearing. I am now holding a toy ball in front of my face, the kind that retracts into a smaller ball and is made of up of plastic links or some material. I begin to run backwards holding that toy in front of my face for some reason, maybe hoping it will stop a bullet or two from penetrating my skull…

Next, the dream shifts to where we are in Parma Elementary, my old stomping grounds. I’m trying to run backward through the halls with some difficulty, with that same toy, the men just coming after me but not shooting. I look back and see some purple doors and keep backing up until I go into an opening and hit a white brick wall. “Wild Bill” and “Kid Curry” start chuckling, thinking that I am totally screwed and they’ve got me cornered. That’s where they’re wrong. Without hesitation, I instantly make my run, forwards, toy gone, out of the clearing and to the left, running down a hall to another set of purple doors. I stop for a moment at the door on the right, admiring the metal push bar, and look back at the men pursuing me again before turning north, running to and out the playground doors.

I run around the building to the front of the school, quickly hiding behind a car in the back of the parking lot. I thought about running to the forest of trees behind me but was afraid the men would see me. Out of nowhere, my partner suddenly appears again, next to me behind the rear bumper, asking loudly if we should call 911. I tell her to shush and be quiet. The angry men show up at the front of the building, looking around but never find us. And that is where I leave you for this night’s story.

endofsequence

In this dream sequence I was a slim 20 to 30 year old man with a full, trimmed beard. I think I looked like the guy from the Bud Light commercial who thinks it’s good luck to go into the basement to get a beer because his team scores every time he does. I never could tell what the girl looked like and I don’t know why those men were chasing after us. Maybe we owed them some money or did something to greatly upset them. Somehow this relates to a past experience in my life. The retractable ball I knew came from Denny’s long ago when I was about seven or eight years old and they used to provide those for us kids to play with. Hobart Street is where my mom grew up, in a handsome white house on a hill with a garage in back. I assume the two men wanted to back me into a corner and have me breathe my final words before unloading on me but I fooled their plans and made a great escape – which did seem way too easy. An alternate working title for this dream could have been “2 Guns”, from the movie starring Mark Wahlberg and Denzel Washington. I’ve never seen that film so I know this dream had nothing to do with it! I referred to the two men as “Wild Bill” and “Kid Curry” because those were the nicknames of two of the deadliest gunslingers in the Wild West, James “Wild Bill” Hickok and Harvey “Kid Curry” Logan.


Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

#13 – Road Trip

Dream from December 29, 2013

On a warm night in September my dreams take me just outside the decrepit party store in the rundown trailer park of Arbor Village. There is a big rig parked outside it. I believe this place is closed down now. My mind is recalling a memory from long ago.

The sequence cuts to a classic tube TV sitting in a tiny compartment between the cab and the trailer hitch; there is an orange metal bench built into the wall. The television is brown and rectangular with old fashioned channel dials. A heavy set man is sitting on the edge of the bench to my right, crowding me to the outside. I hesitated and then eventually got into the compartment with him, feeling rather uncomfortable. We are waiting for another person to join us…but they never come. There are stereo headphones hooked into the TV that me and the big guy somehow wear at the same time even though the band obviously wouldn’t fit around both of our heads – or maybe they were the earbud kind. I am concerned that the bulky TV will be a problem as the truck is moving and will suck a lot of energy from the battery. The TV moves around freely in its shelf space as it isn’t tied or bolted down. The guy fiddles with the dials on the tube but it is never turned on. I’m not even sure it was plugged in.

I destroyed one of these once

The dream leaves the compartment briefly to appear inside a convenience store with a lady behind the counter. She looks like the Venezuelan gourmet chef Lorena Garcia from the Taco Bell commercial for their Cantina Bell menu.

Now cutting back to the truck, it is stopped on the southbound side of a highway. I and some other people I cannot identify since they are blurry are standing about on the road, walking around nonchalantly with no cars or trucks zooming by at all. I take a look at the grassy center divider on the right and walk into it. Seconds later, though, I am waiting to cross back over the road I came from after some cars and a line of people have gone by which includes a short, stout chick from Plasma who always wears a black t-shirt with some rock band logo on it, and my funny, dependable, and sometimes kooky uncle Jack, who is wearing his usual plain dark blue shirt. I eventually cross and hop back in the truck, this time in the passenger side of the cab. I do not know if the fat man is still with me at this point of the dream.

Now it is my mom, dad, and I sitting on the porch of a house somewhere in the rundown slum neighborhood of Jackson. There is a close-up of a dish in my hands called “Internet” (as my inner mind puts it) that I created with ma and pa – why it is called that I do not have the slightest idea (maybe it has to do with the Internet being out at my house for about a week and the frustrating, impatient longing for it to work again). The dish is a sort of taco or nacho supreme bowl with veggies and meat piled together. There is a tetherball swinging from the porch ceiling . I eat most of the “Internet” meal, leaving a small portion for sister Emily. I hear myself say “It’s great to live the life” and then think but it won’t last forever. Dad gives me a concerned look as I wolf down the cheesy dish. The porch is very similar to the one belonging to the house on Baker Street in Spring Arbor, where I used to live.

The is what “Internet” looks like