Nightmare: Fear and Stress
I'm not kidding. This dream was possibly the worst nightmare I've ever had, and while it's hard to imagine in retrospect and may sound foolish, please try to appreciate how it must have felt not knowing that this is just an illusion.
I guess the whole story was my fault, if it comes down to it. I would never have thought myself capable of such evil thoughts at 7:00a.m.... for indeed, I believe that that was around the hour when it occurred to me. I had had an unfortunate habit of listening to classical (or other types) music at night in bed to lull me toward sleep. Since I didn't have headphones, I would clutch a large boombox to my person in the darkness, before finally turning it off when I wanted to sleep. Last night I'd turned it off rather late, and I'd carelessly dropped it to the floor next to my bed, upsetting it. When I woke groggily at some school-related hour, the first thought that came to me was to go back to sleep. But first, I decided to straighten out the box. This disturbance of peaceful sleep motion may have caused it. Who knows?
The dream starts rather frivolously. Jiang, Anandh, and I are all in Economics. Jiang, in the vein of his Revolution article, is sharing some sort of martial-arts-like moment with Anandh and myself. As things tend to do in dreams, we seemed to melt into my house, in the living room. Apparently, we were having a party at my house with no adults and no pesky little sister, at a typical 10:00p.m.-midnight hour. Jiang continued to entertain us, now using sword skills, for a little while. Then, resting, Jiang and Anandh both sat on the couch, and I was coerced somehow into the kitchen.
MY HOUSE, 2F
In the kitchen was Paul Dovnor and a group of others. I'm not going to describe Paul; he's actually a friend of mine, but he is damn good at acting uncivilized. Anyway, he armed me with a butcher's knife, and apparently our crowd wanted a demonstration or a continuation of martial arts. I felt that it was foolish, and Paul seemed to have a massive sword on his back, so besides foolish, it also appeared dangerous. I declined, but Paul insisted that he would stop if anyone looked like he would get hurt. Regretfully I swung out the Psycho weapon, and it nearly cut Paul's nose off. He immediately whipped out his own weapon - another dullish butcher's knife. At this point, as he swung out viciously and I backed off, I told him that clearly it wasn't right. Muttering something, Paul agreed. I was walking back into the kitchen when he suddenly grabbed me again and told me that he'd teach me how to fight better.
Against all humane and sensible wishes, I followed him into my sister's room down the hallway. The other rooms seemed distant, despite that they were in "reality" right behind the doors. I let Paul enter my sister's room and when he got in, he took out the knife again. I stood uneasily at the doorway, using my body weight to hold the door open. When nothing happened for only fifteen seconds it seemed, I finally gave in, the suspense overwhelming. I told Paul I'd be there later, and I walked back down the hallway. Jiang and Anandh were seemingly forgotten in the living room; the crowd had also poured from the kitchen outward to there. In the kitchen, I hid behind the ledge that protrudes outward from the refrigerator, not daring to go downstairs. There I hid, crouching, clutching my crude weapon, ready to spring out and lash out. At last I poked my head out.
My heartrate increased tenfold as I yanked it back. Paul Dovnor's massive bulk came crashing down; the massive weapon in his hand was lodged deep in the hardwood floor. Ignoring my trembling limbs and the quaking floor, I leaped onto his back. He tried to stand up, but I put the tip of the knife on the back of his neck. I continued poking at him, making sure that he was still subdued, continually drawing blood from him, ignoring his pleas for mercy. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I dragged him from the hallway into the kitchen, away from his cutting implement, and then I pulled him back out, kicking the knife away.
He remained totally stupified, too terrified to make a move. His feeling was at least how I felt as I called out to Jiang and Anandh to help me out here, with this lug at my knees and a horrible weapon in my hands. But my throat didn't seem to work. "Hey!" I yelled out at last, and as my mouth opened, I gulped in some real oxygen and woke up. My body was not drenched in sweat, nor my face in tears. It had merely been a terrible dream, and one that had majorly screwed up my hair.
What did I learn from this? Couldn't tell ya. I'm still planning on listening to music at night, and it's not like I'm gonna stop being friends with Paul Dovnor. Damn, that was a bad dream, but I am already imagining how perfectly it could translate into an action tale... I can imagine the tense music playing, the atmosphere - had I heard it? Couldn't tell ya.
But don't be surprised if this appears in a story of mine with different names and setting.
SD
Sept. 24, '05
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