Tag: prison

Warning: Somewhat Horror (Also, Sorry, Mom)

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that my mother and I are taking part in a horror tour. It’s night when our bus arrives at a haunted old mansion, we get inside along with all the other guests, cheering and laughing.

(Photo by Ján Jakub Naništa on Unsplash)

The mansion is haunted alright, but I soon figure out the ghosts and other scary presences (mostly dead girls, pale, bleeding) cannot be touched and can’t harm us in any way. I feel relieved, amused, even. There’s something else about the house though, something odd: it seems to be able to read our minds. I can think about anything I want, anything at all, and the house makes it happen.

I want to buy a souvenir. I see a dish set hanging from the wall, beautiful golden and white plates. As soon as I think it the set flies into my arms and the money leaves my bank account, just like magic. I ask for the check and it’s projected directly into my brain. I say out loud I’d rather have a paper copy and a young maid brings it to me. She says,

Thank you, these numbers will help me win the lottery, back in 2005.

I go back to the bus and realize my mother is nowhere to be found. As I’m starting to worry she finally runs out from the main door, looking frantic, screaming, her face contorted with fear. A waiter is following her, his white shirt covered in yellow puke. I have a moment of terrifying realization: this cannot be my mother. She would never act like this. This is a ghost trying to escape, and my real mother is still trapped inside.

Everybody begs me to stop, but I’m already running back. The doors close behind me, the tour bus leaves, and with a shiver I realize I’m the one being trapped here. Just like the house wanted.

I wake up and fall back to sleep. Now I’m at home, waiting for the police to arrive. A man with round glasses has showed me the future, I know I’m wanted, I know the police will seize all my favorite pens (I hide them, just in case), and I know that my mother will be arrested as well.

I see a police car and a van arriving and parking outside. As I open the door I tell my parents to stay calm: surely it’s all a mistake, if we explain ourselves we can avoid any trouble. I open the door and dozens upon dozens of officers pour in. Most of them go directly to my bedroom (my poor pens!) but their chief stays to interrogate me. She’s a blonde woman, tall, extremely beautiful but there’s something cold in her eyes, something not human. I realize in a moment she’s one of the ghosts from the hunted house, and she wants to steal my body and give it to one of her ghosts friends.

Years later I get out of prison. The beautiful blonde chief is waiting for me and we kiss passionately. Am I still me? Am I a ghost? I cannot tell. Flash forward a few more years, I’m on boat on a stormy ocean. The boat sinks and I wash ashore on a beautiful island. I lost my memory.

My alarm rings.

0

A Long One For A Change

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream that there’s a phone game I’m really looking forward to play, it’s deceptively simple and cutesy but I’ve been told the plot has a rather dark turn.

Thing is, I can’t possibly concentrate on the game because my life seems to be going fast forward: I blink and a few hours have passed, try as I might I can’t remember what happened in those hours. These flash forward episodes keep happening as I try to go home, when I finally get there years have passed, my dad is old now and has long white hair.

And then time fixes itself, I guess, because next thing I know I’m on my bed playing the game.

The plot is about a young girl with pink hair travelling with her master, a medieval knight. The two are attacked in a village by the game’s bad guy (really well written, engaging backstory for him). I see that he has much more experience points than my characters and a sense of dread washes over me: I watch helpless as the master is brutally murdered and the little girl is dragged to prison.

(Photo by Ricardo Cruz on Unsplash)

It’s me languishing in that cell now, after years and years my old friend and neighbor S. rescues me and we go home together. There’s a long carnival parade outside my building, the music is deafening.

I’m once again in my room and my phone is ringing. It’s my cousin. “You can come back to the store for three hours tomorrow,” she says, “but then that’s it, you’re fired.”

“What?! Why?!” I ask, flabbergasted.

They are moving the store to London. And I can’t afford to go with them, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent. The next day I stand on the long bridge that crosses the Atlantic and cry as I look at my cousin, Boss Lady and my coworker S. walking past the gate that goes into London. I beg them not to leave me.

“Farewell, farewell,” says S.

0

Mazes and Prisons

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I’m part of a group of female warriors, we need to navigate an underground maze rigged with deadly puzzles.

We sneak inside and I go ahead to scout. There are long corridors with technological contraptions all over the walls – wires, tubes, buttons. A giant rock encrusted with green and blue gems rolls towards me, I swerve to the side and yell for my companions to watch out. I notice there are now more people in the maze, two older women running wildly to avoid the giant rock. I move faster, I can’t allow them to arrive to the treasure before me.

We reach a chamber at the center of the maze, inside there are two metal pods surrounded by futuristic machinery, they probably contain people important enough to justify all this protection. As I caress the cold surface of a pod, our enemy arrives: he’s a Nazi officer with his soldiers. I need to find an excuse, fast! I tell him I’m working for the “Professor”, and I point to one of the older women, who is wearing a lab coat.

She is brought forward. I can now see that her face is covered with a wooden mask: it’s expressionless, like a dead-eyed Pinocchio. Interrogated, she doesn’t speak a single word. The Nazi furiously rips off her mask, but the face underneath is identical, made of wood, the eyes vacant and lifeless, the mouth a black gaping hole. The man screams, and we run away in the confusion.

It was all a flashback, as told by one of my warrior companions. She looks like an older Kirby Howell-Baptiste, she’s in the Orange is The New Black prison telling the story to the other inmates. Yoga Jones calls them outside to look for food, and so the inmates happily get out of prison and into a forest, where they look for edible plants through the sunny patches, laughing and squealing at each other. It looks quite nice.

0