Moving away from reality and into the dream world, I’ve been subject to some random elaborate dreams by my psyche of late. Starting off as follows:
I walk into a gas station and a man is holding up the clerk with a gun, while his father is stealing all of the bubble gum he can find. When the man with the gun notices my entrance he shoots the clerk and his father proceeds to tie me up. They keep me tied up in the gas station for three days. The son is assigned to watch me while the father searches for bubblegum in the store. The son, being the weaker minded of the two, talks to me about his relationship with his father. After a bit of prying and coaxing I convince the son to let me go, while his father is busy. In the midst of letting me go, the father waltzes in and demands to know what the son is doing. A commotion arises and the father is shot in the process, and I flee the gas station. When I arrive home safe (so I thought) I wake up in the middle of the night (in the dream) and I’m suddenly pregnant with a daemon baby that’s clawing through my pregnant belly leaving huge painful stretch marks. My stomach starts glowing red and somehow I was more concerned about the stretch marks never going away.
This is when my dream skips ten years and lands at a family reunion at my grandmother’s house. The son, from that hold up so long ago, arrives with a bunch of female support groupies from the son’s college. They confront me about what happened so long ago and we all sit down to discuss the detrimental affect that shooting his own father had on the son’s psyche. In the middle of our discussion a brightly colored T-rex that looks like one of the dragons from ‘How to Train your Dragon’ appears and in order to keep it from eating us we have to keep smacking it’s nose. Of course smacking the nose of a T-rex is quite tiring so we all jump into little dodge pick up trucks and spin cookies in the field in front of my grandmother’s house while the T-rex chases around the field.
And that’s it. I wake up. Odd isn’t it?
Take another trip into my altered subconscious with me.
I time traveled with my boyfriend to a town that resembled Salem during the witch hunt. Everything was in sepia tones and I found myself drawn to this cult that seemed to surround a Thrift Shop. Every three hours they put something new in the window and all the towns people would mob around the store front yelling and then disperse half an hour later.
When I entered the thrift store, two ladies manned the store; one was in charge of putting different things in the window, and the other manning the cash register even though the store was empty. I decided to try on some of the dresses. The dressing room had room dividers, but instead of shielding the person from everyone’s view it only shielded view from the people in the store, not the other people in the dressing room. At 4 O’clock all the leaders of the Cult (the firemen) came into the dressing room and watched me try on dresses. When I tried to put my clothes back on the nearest one grabbed my wrists and threatened to rape me if I put my clothes back on. I ran away wearing one of the dresses that resembled a short prom dress. When I exited the store my boyfriend showed up in a firetruck saying he had stole it from the fire station because the towns folk had figured out that we were outsiders. I got in the truck and we rushed to the ‘portal’ back to our time, but I fell out of the truck. The towns people were getting closer and there wasn’t any time to stop the truck and get in so I proceeded to run 60 mph up the hill to the portal with the fire truck behind me.
When we reached the portal the towns people had turned it into a series of awkward, backward slides with words violently scratched into the surfaces. They were brightly colored in the sepia toned world, made of plastic like playground slides. They were several of them and you had to figure out how to get to the hole at the top and fall down it to the next puzzle slide. After going through five puzzle slides we reached the one that was just a hole and we slid down its bumpy surface to a brightly lit, saturated kitchen. When I asked the nearest waitor where we were they scoffed and said “your restaurant boss” looking at my boyfriend. When we walked out into the main area, the “Sonic” logo with Zito in black above it was everywhere. My boyfriend and I were the owners of a branch of the fast food restaurant. I was congratulating my boyfriend on his monumental success in the business when I woke up.