I dream that I’m with a friend trying on clothes in a store. A man with a gun comes in, starts shooting. My friend shoves me inside a dressing rooms, tells me to hide. She is shot and killed, the right side of her face is caked in blood. I cower on the dressing room floor, I know the man is looking for me, but somehow he doesn’t spot me.
Tag: murders
I’m Getting Anxious To Record My Dreams, IN My dreams
I dream that I’m traveling with my siblings committing murders, and I’m taking notes of everything we do so I can write it all down on this blog (ha!). The police is growing suspicious so we ask our dad to pick us up. We wait for him on the shores of a small lake, marveling at how people swim and sunbathe just like it was an ocean.
I dream that I’m biking around town. I stop to pick up my late Grandma G’s doctor prescriptions. I have a little brother, 3 years old, and I’m convinced that he’s a genius. He’s able to locate every part of the body (armpits, chin, feet, hands) and count to twenty. Maybe we’ll have him skip kindergarten and go directly to primary school.
Could I BE More Predictable?
I dream that I’m playing the Sims. I rotate through different families, there’s a couple trying to solve a murder and there’s one that is moving back to their parents’ haunted house.
Trying My Best To Explain A Complicate Dream
I’m studying at a friend’s, there’s a guy, a girl and I. The guy gives me a set of cards, yellow, blue and red, each representing a paranormal encounter; I try to decipher them like one would a math problem.
I ask the guy what the colors represent, are they emotional or purely descriptive? He says they are very emotional, then he tells me about his past: he was one of a set of twins, so cute and talented they starred in a famous Christmas movie. When his brother was murdered, the guy started to have visions of him.
(The girl listens to the story and she’s inspired into having a paranormal encounter of her own, she finds herself in a forest where she has a lightsaber duel with old Ben Kenobi. Her lightsaber is green.)
The guy is happy with my questions and writes on a report that I have
The mind of a Kantian and the luck of a skeptic.
I’m not quite sure what that means, but I’m so flattered I underline his words with my pencil.
Four Snippets
There’s been a murder inside a big, white cathedral, two people, quite gruesome by the look of it. I’m with a couple of friends, one of them is my old classmate L. We are not allowed to go inside, but we leave a sad note with a fountain pen and our best wavy handwriting.
It’s a foggy, dark day. I meet both my grandmothers: they are sitting together on a bench outside a house. Grandma G. gives me a ring, it’s silver and heavy, I snatch it out of her hand right away with no shame. I tell them both to be careful and stay safe from the Coronavirus outbreak.
I’m at home, but home is a small RV. I’m waiting for my penpal C. to visit as she promised, because I want to propose to her. She arrives at night, wearing a white spring dress and pushing a shopping cart. She slips in my tiny bed.
It’s Easter, I’m celebrating with my siblings but I’m also missing work. I feel a bit guilty about it, and just then my boss shows up and looks at me and I can tell she’s silently judging me. I have my period and bad cramps, but I tell her I’m gonna wash my face, put my jeans on and go to work.
Blood, Fire and Disappointment
Note: the man I’m gonna write about today is a rather famous person who I admire very much. I’d hate for him to accidentally find this dream where some terrible stuff happens to his actual family, I was even tempted to not record it at all. In the end I decided to leave his name out, just in case.
I’m watching a live stream. In it a man is driving a car and at the same time recording a vlog with his wife and children. A terrible accident happens, an explosion. We see the younger child, no more than a toddler, buried by rock and debris, his face burnt and bloody. The older brother is also badly burned. The father looks into the phone camera he’s recording with, his face covered in soot and deadly scared, and tells the audience he’s gonna run for help.
The day goes by slowly, I keep thinking about the accident, wondering what happened, checking Twitter for updates. Finally the man tweets something. A Christian prayer, and then a picture of his younger son with a heartbreaking epitaph. I’m not surprised, the child was badly hurt. But where is the brother?
The live stream starts again, we are showed the other child. His black t-shirt and jeans are burned, it’s night and he’s walking alone into a drive-in restaurant. Inside, standing under neon lights on the shiny floor tiles, there’s no other than Emperor Palpatine. He tries to turn the child to the dark side, but gets stabbed in return: the boy killed him!
People on the Internet rejoice at seeing the boy alive and well, but I’m growing suspicious. The car accident, the fight with Palpatine, it all looked kind of… staged, produced even. Was it all a lie? An excuse for this boy get away with murder? Did the father even got as far as sacrificing his own younger child to get the older one to succeed? I feel shaken.
Another quick dream, because I slept in this Sunday morning.
I notice at the supermarket colorful cardboard boxes on a shelf. I look closer and see pictured on the boxes a set of vintage 90s mugs, just like the ones I used to have breakfast in as a kid! I buy three, one with Chip ‘n Dale, one with Mickey and Donald, and one with Tony the Tiger.
I run home all excited, I want to show them to my sister. She’s sitting on the toilet but doesn’t seem to mind. We open a box and we are immediately overwhelmed by the smell of artificial chocolate, it’s really bad. There are no functional mugs inside, just three plastic replicas with Styrofoam cereal in it. They are cute and colorful, but quite useless.
Murderers on a Boat
My cousin and I are on the run because we killed someone in Venice, and I can still feel the blood spraying from his throat. We desperately need to rest and get rid of evidence, so we choose a random, empty-looking house, we shower and change and are about to leave when a woman appears on the door. She’s around sixty, has short hair and glasses, looks like Phyllis Smith. We’re petrified for a moment, thinking we got caught, but luckily the woman is short sighted and mistakes us for her own nieces! She sees we showered and that we are carrying black garbage bags (to get rid of evidence!) and, bless her soul, just assumes we must have had our periods. She tells us to not worry because “it’s perfectly normal” and that we can use her house whenever we need. “See,” says my cousin as we leave. “Peace of cake.”
My siblings are now tagging along because they’re also murderers. We have found the perfect hiding spot: we’re sailing along the good guys’ ship, so massive they’ll never notice the small boat hiding literally under their noses. Or at least, we think we’re safe, but a government agent storms into the boat and easily defeats all of us! We think we are doomed, but to our surprise he offers us to become state-sanctioned assassins. We quickly take the offer.
DECADE DREAM JOURNAL 