#ofalltheartistsinalltheworld

[wisegiverchaos]

My Dream Last Night

 CONTEXT: I was thinking about sports bras during the day prior to going to bed, so I began the dream in some sort of store perusing sports bras. As is standard with dreams, the locations flowed into each other as if they all exist whithin a single monolithic, labyrinthine structure. The store flowed from a women’s clothing section into Target’s home section, past ottomans and blankets and candles. From the home section it became a back hallway (think employee corridors at malls) which emptied into several different spaces via doorways. The doorway I eventually take in the dream leads to a darkened picturesque chapel. After passing through the chapel I’ll stumble into a spacious office space with multiple individual offices, and a reception area with a couch and a couple of comfortable chairs. (The bad guy that pops up appears to be the Darkling from Shadow and Bone, which makes sense, I guess, because I find him attractive. His minions are generic bad guys as well as Dakota Fanning at 14 and Alexander Ludwig at the same age.) The reception doors of the office lead outside, where I’ll find myself on a wooded mountain containing the occasional house, as well as some towering trees. I rejoin my team (which I apparently have) and end up near a house toward the foot of the mountain, when a dam bursts. (Makes total sense because I was just reading a book wherein a dam burst and many people were killed. It also included a mountain slope with many trees at one point in the story, so that’s probably where that came from.) We must climb trees in an effort to avoid being swept away. So there you go, that’s what I’ve got.

    I held the package of sports bras, debating. They were cute, and a really good price, but there were five in there, and I’d only been after two. It was a steal, I decided, nodding to myself. If I could find my size I was taking them home. I began to dig through the hanging packages, on a mission. My concentration was broken by a rising clamor coming from the store to my right, and I looked for the cause of the sound. After a moment, a crowd of people charged into view, the fear on their faces communicating better than words that they were fleeing something. Suddenly feeling a sick lance of fright slash through my gut, I turned on my heel and ran, not interested in being trampled. I dodged piles of blankets and candles and leapt over ottomans, some endlessly consumerist part of my brain registering that “huh, those are cute,” as I fled.

    I burst through a large set of swinging doors, through which I’d seen many an employee disappear, and found myself in a large receiving bay. To my left yawned a seemingly endless hallway, studded with doors on either side. I chose the hallway. I was about forty feet into the hall when the swinging doors burst open under the flood of people. I poured on the speed. Up ahead, I noticed one of the doors was slightly ajar, and I angled for it. I skidded to a stop, swung inside, and slammed and locked the door. I leaned heavily against it, listening to the horde of frightened humans stampede past, and I noticed absently that I had locked myself into a broom cupboard. A cramped cleaning closet. I jumped as the door handle was jostled several times, and I pushed my weight into the door just in case. The thunder of footsteps began to recede, along with shouts and the occasional scream. I sank to the floor and rested my head on my knees.

    I awoke sometime later, minutes or hours, I’m not sure, shocked to realize I’d actually fallen asleep. That seemed foolish, given that I didn’t even know what I’d been running from so recently. On my knees, I turned to the door and pressed my ear to it, straining to hear even the smallest sound. There was nothing. I slowly unlocked the door, keeping as quiet as possible. I still winced when the lock popped open, as loud as a gunshot to my paranoid ears. I waited with bated breath for any response to the noise, but the hallway outside remained stubbornly quiet.

         Inch by fraction of an inch, I pushed the door open (less than halfway), glad to be lower to the ground in case anyone was out there. Seeing no one to the left (from which direction I’d come) I poked my head around the door and searched the other end of the hall. Empty. There seemed to be no indication of the swarm of frightened people that had crashed through. I squinted. There were a few scuff marks on the floors and along the walls. To be fair, those could have come from before. There! On the floor up ahead, lay a single shoe.

   Shaking my head, I straightened to my feet. I considered returning the way I’d come, but dismissed the notion with a shiver. I had a bad feeling about going back, what I might see. So instead I turned right, and crept down the hallway, gently trying different doors to see if they’d open. I found another closet like mine, this one stacked with rolls of toilet paper, shelves of soaps, and paper towels; supplies rather than cleaning agents.

   Further down, I had luck with another door. When the door cracked open, I could sense that it was an actual room, rather than a closet, and I paused, waiting. When there was no sound or response, I pulled it open far enough to peek inside. All was dark. Without giving myself time to talk some sense into myself, I slipped inside, the door closing and plunging myself into inky darkness. I stood still, blinking, and waited for my eyes to adjust. I could feel that I was in a very large, open space. As I gained some vision, I could see that I was in a chapel with soaring, vaulted ceilings, a weak sliver of light emanating from behind a pulpit. I turned in a small circle, taking in what little I could make out, and nearly shrieked as I realized I was not alone.

   Rows and rows of pews lined the sides of the cavernous space, every one of them filled to capacity with motionless figures. They were so still, that for a moment I wondered if the pews were holding mannequins for the store. The notion was dispelled, however, when I realized I could hear them breathing in the stillness. On tiptoe, I approached the nearest pew, situated against the back wall. I peered at the woman seated in front of me, feeling at any moment she might jump at me and shout and I would absolutely pee my pants. But she just sat placidly, staring straight ahead, blinking occasionally. Her hands rested in her lap, palms pressed together as if she’d been praying. I looked at the man to her left, and the woman to her right, and they sat in exactly the same position, palms together, staring straight ahead with no expression.

              Eerie.

    I nearly screamed when I heard the door handle begin to turn behind me. Finding no empty spaces of the pews, to try and blend in, I clambered onto the back of the pew, jostling the strange, empty people. From the pew, I leapt at the wall, just managing to catch hold of the bottom of the nearest rafter, which arced toward the ceiling. I scrambled into a secure position, clutching to the beam like a monkey, just as the door swung open. A pair of men entered, talking quietly to one another, each with a scary-looking rifle slung over his shoulder. They walked below me, ostensibly unaware of my presence. They paused in the middle of the chapel, and I lost sight of them for a moment when the door swung shut and  the sliver of light that had illuminated them disappeared. I blinked, waiting for my vision to readjust. The men continued chatting.

   When I could finally see again, I stretched my leg as far as I could go, relieved when I felt my toes hit the next rafter over. I carefully rested more and more of my weight on it until I could safely heave the rest of my body over. In this manner, I slowly made my not-so-graceful way across the chapel. I froze every so often, especially as I neared the men’s location, certain they would hear my movements and soft swearing; but any sounds I made were eaten up by the high ceilings, which also explained why I couldn’t make out anything specific that the men were saying. When I reached the far end of the chapel, I could make out the faint, dark outline of a second door. I settled in to wait, realizing there’d be no getting down and through the door without them noticing.

    Happily, I didn’t have to wait very long. After a couple of minutes walking between the frozen people, snapping or waving in front of their faces, the men seemed to bore. They wound their way back to the door through which they’d entered and left. I remembered just in time to close my eyes to retain what little night-vision I’d achieved. Shaking my head to myself, I lowered my body carefully from the beam, until my questing toes encountered the back of a pew. My other foot joined it, and I bounced quietly to the floor. I put my ear to the new door, and hearing nothing, I pushed it open enough to slip through.

  I was blinded again, this time by a normal level of light rather than a lack thereof. Blinking rapidly, I took in my new surroundings. I was in an office, of sorts. Dim, half lighting revealed various cubicles stretched in front of me that ran to my right, and a hall of actual, private offices with windows and blinds to the left. I chose left, creeping down the hall. I peeked into the offices and continued on, pausing at one with a door on the opposite side of the small room. After a brief look around, I padded into the office, heading for the door. I listened again, heard nothing again, and turned the knob. I pulled the door halfway open, and peeked outside. It was a reception area, open and airy, admitting natural light from large windowed doors to the outside. Empty.

   I let out a quiet sigh of relief, the air whooshing out of my and slumping my shoulders. I opened the door the rest of the way and as I stepped through a quiet voice whispered, “Freeze.” I froze. My foot mid-step, my hand clamped around the doorknob. I wanted to look round, see who had spoken, but my head wouldn’t move. Indeed, my entire body suddenly seemed to be more inclined to follow the command of an unknown stranger than my own; I couldn’t even put my foot the rest of the way down. I jumped when a hand clamped onto my forearm… or rather, my heart jumped, and my adrenaline spiked. My body, however, remained still. Frozen, as commanded. What the –?

  “Relax your body, but don’t move after,” came the voice again. I registered a man’s voice before becoming distracted by my body inexplicably following his instructions. My foot came down, and drew back so I was standing rather than walking, my arms dropped loosely to my sides. “What –?” I started to ask, but he cut me off, “Don’t make a sound.” My mouth wouldn’t move, and after some effort, I realized I couldn’t hum or even breathe loudly. My heart pounded, and my traitorous knees felt weak. “Walk to the nearest sofa, then sit down and be still.” Before his words fully registered, my body was carrying me into the reception area toward a couch situated between two armchairs. I reached the couch, and as my body turned around to sit, I could finally see the stranger.

   He was somewhere near thirty, wearing a neat suit with no tie. He had dark hair, swept precisely off his forehead, and a closely trimmed beard. I was registering my surprise at his youth and (embarrassing as it is to admit) good looks, when I felt my knees bend, and my backside hit the couch. I sat, my back ramrod straight, and stared at the human puppeteer. Looking me over appraisingly, he instructed me to place my palms together and rest them on my knees, which I did. The strange, unmoving people in the chapel suddenly made a lot of sense.

    The man nodded to himself, as if checking off a task, then un-buttoned his jacket and sat down beside me, lounging back. Without warning, he placed a firm hand on my back. Again, I would have jumped had his command not rooted me in place. The man reached into his pocket with his other hand, withdrew a phone, and began texting someone. When he finished, he returned it and sat quietly, waiting. His right hand occasionally stroked my back absentmindedly, making me tense.

    I could tense! A flood of relief rushed through me at that tiny bit of agency. While we waited, I tensed all of the muscles I could, starting from my toes and moving up. I couldn’t move anything around, and simply tensing or flexing took massive effort, but it was something. Sadly, I could do nothing with my hands, barely managing a twitch, but the rest of my muscles responded and I was able to flex my arms and even my shoulders lightly. The man’s hand on my back stilled, and my stomach dropped. I’d been so focused on trying to move I’d failed to consider he might notice. There was a roaring in my ears as I waited for his reaction.

       He said nothing, and after a moment, his hand resumed lazily tracing patterns into my back. The relief I felt would’ve normally caused my shoulders to slump, but they stayed still as instructed. I concentrated my focus on my hands. The twitch had been better than nothing, and I could work with that. I couldn’t even begin to pull my hands apart, so instead I worked to flex my fingers, or maybe twist my palms against each other, taking care not to even twitch my shoulders. With the man leaning back into the couch, I couldn’t see him, only his legs next to mine, and an occasional flash of his arm in my periphery. I wondered if he was watching me, or merely staring off into space, so confident in his little trick that he didn’t feel the need to monitor me.

   I had finally gotten my fingers to bend consistently, though they stayed glued together, when I heard footsteps approaching. The hand dropped from my back and the man stood, re-buttoning his jacket, and walked somewhere to my left and back. My body tensed, wishing to run, but knowing I couldn’t.

  I had an idea burrowing into my head that if I could break one of his specific commands, even separating my hands, I’d be able to regain full control. With the man’s attention focused on the incoming footsteps, I put my all into twisting my palms against each other. I strained until the fingers of my right hand pointed straight up, while the left remained pointed ahead. With herculean effort, I pulled my right hand toward my chest while pushing the left straight forward. I just needed my palms to separate!

    Voiced greetings snapped my attention to the present, and my hands back into position. I could’ve screamed with frustration. I looked left, wondering if they’d noticed. Standing where they were, I couldn’t see them, even straining my eyes as hard as I was. After a beat, the man led the well dressed newcomers into my field of vision. My eyes widened slightly, and the three smiled at my minute reaction. They were teenagers. A boy and a girl, both blonde and pretty, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. I looked between the three of them, puzzled.  

    The man stepped forward, “I apologize for the wait, and I thank you for your patience,” he began, smiling at his own joke as if I’d had a choice. “My friends here were seeing to other matters,” he continued, nodding to the teens, “their skills being something of a precious commodity, and I didn’t wish to rush them. Besides,” he mused, eyes twinkling mischievously, “I rather enjoyed our time together.” I would have frowned if I could, but he read my confusion (and annoyance?) in my eyes as if he’d had practice reading frozen faces. Which, I supposed, he had.

     “I have a number of questions to ask you, and, not wishing to waste time waiting for you to pick over what you’d like to tell me, I’ve brought my dear friend Annika here to find the truth.” The girl gave a smile and a small wave when her name was mentioned. “Annika has the incredible ability to hear the thoughts inside your head,” claimed the man. I stared at him. He smiled indulgently at the cynicism he read on me, as well as my internal speculation as to his sanity. “You find your body controlled by the mere words of another and telepathy is beyond belief?” He laughed softly when I looked at the floor in consternation.

                  That was a good point.

   Sliding his hands into his pockets, the man stepped forward. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and when you think of the answer she’ll tell me what it is. It’s quite handy, because it’s not really possible to lie this way. When I say ‘don’t think of a pink elephant’ that’s exactly what flashes through your head.” He shrugged, “In the same vein, when I ask you a question, the correct, honest answer is the first thing that pops up. The notion to lie or make up a story comes after, and by that point Annika has already told me the truth. It’s a wonderful, painless way to obtain information, don’t you think?” he concluded, looking pleased with himself.

   My eyes stayed on the floor. If I could have furrowed my brow, I would have. I was utterly baffled by this current turn of events. I couldn’t fathom any possible line of questioning they’d have for me, let alone one that would require such lengths to ensure honesty. His point had convinced me she was legitimate, or at the very least he believed she was.. All I could do was watch their feet as they approached me. The boy perched on the arm of the couch, and the girl, Annika, sat down on my right side. The man resumed his place at my left, sitting forward attentively this time, his knee touching mine. I watched Annika’s hand take hold of my wrist, her hand dainty and warm, skin to skin. My scalp started to prickle, and I dimly wondered why she didn’t take one of my hands if she had to touch me. Internally rolling my eyes, I concluded that she didn’t want to break Mr. Suit’s favorite pose.

    She let out a small giggle, and my eyes snapped to her face. The man tilted his head and she turned her gaze to him, opening her mouth to speak, a pretty smile on her face. She paused and briefly turned back to me and said, “Thank you!” before again facing the man. I stared at her hand on my arm. Shit. She giggled again and told the man, “She’s funny.” A brow lifted and she continued, “She words things in her head in a way that just makes me laugh.” My heart began to race again.

   I’d thought I believed him, but had I really? She couldn’t…

 “I can,” she laughed, and my heart stuttered. “She only has my name, so she’s been calling you funny names in her head. Not like, bad names or anything, but it’s still funny.” She turned to the boy, “Nothing funny for you I’m afraid, Andrew, she was just calling you ‘the boy’, but you, sir,” She turned back. “You’re ‘puppeteer’, you’re ‘Mr. Suit’, you’re ‘creepy-evil-guy-who-shouldn’t-be-so-attractive’..” She trailed off with a giggle. My cheeks burned. “Aw, she’s blushing!” laughed the boy, Andrew. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the impossible embarrassment. “You guessed right, you know,” Annika chimed, my eyes cracking open to peek at her. “We are twins!” I wanted to nod politely, but of course couldn’t. Her uncanny ability told her anyway, and she smiled.

   “She’s really nice, all things considered. Most people are cursing me out in their heads by now.” My thoughts flashed to a moment prior. Smiling patiently, she patted my hand, “You didn’t call me anything. Thinking ‘shit’ was just you realizing that this was actually, really happening.” She turned to the suit conspiratorially, “She thought I was pretty you know. She’s scared out of her mind and she’s still really sweet. Oh, and his name is Mr. Flint, by the way,” she said, turning back to me, “he does wear great suits, though.” The man smiled indulgently, and I went back to staring at the floor. Could you please not do that? I thought. She squeezed my hand softly. I took that as a ‘no’. A kind one, in spite of the circumstances. She looked at “Mr. Flint”, then turned to me. “Let’s start with your name.” Ava. “And how you came to be sneaking through these offices.”

   Unable to talk, I thought about my day leading up to this moment. How had a simple trip to the store turned into a psychic interrogation? I had no idea who these people were, why they were here, or the purpose behind the chapel of zombies, as I’d taken to thinking of them. Annika tilted her head, frowning. “Is that true, Ava?” Hearing her use my name, my eyes jumped to meet hers. She gazed at me with concern. I don’t know anything, I thought, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know why. I don’t understand what’s happening. I blinked rapidly, quickly clearing the embarrassed/frightened tears that were trying to blur my vision. Her eyes softened. She looked at “Mr. Flint” and tilted her head to the left, gesturing with her chin.

     They stood, walking out of sight, Andrew trailing behind them. I stared after them, trying in vain to pick out specific words from the quiet murmur I could hear. Failing that, I began to flex my fingers again. They were easier to bend this time. Maybe it was because he was no longer touching me. Maybe his commands wore off after a little time. It still took immense effort, but twisting my palms took much less time, and I began the pull-push motion I’d been attempting earlier. I was so close. I could hear them talking, was it louder? Were they moving closer? I could feel sweat beading under my hair. Less than a half inch. My muscles shook, fighting each other.

    My palms parted, and it felt like I could finally breathe. Strength flooded my limbs and I leapt to my feet. Not pausing to wait for them to notice, I charged through the door and outside.

                                                                       * * *

     Blinking in the sun, I found myself on a mountainside, lush and verdant. I looked around, for a moment, then charged down the slope. Dodging trees and leaping boulders, I whooped. It sure was nice outside. I tumbled down the hill and nearly bowled over a small group of people. When we righted ourselves, I was thrilled to recognize my friends. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we resumed our descent, passing the occasional house.

    As we neared the foot of the mountain, we heard a deep boom, followed by a thunderous roar. The dam had burst. The water was coming. Concluding we lacked sufficient time to make it across the bowl to our vehicles that awaited us on the opposite slope, we searched for higher ground. (That wouldn’t require re-climbing the mountain we’d just descended.)

   The house nearest to us stood in the shade of two massive trees, their trunks so thick it would take at least four of us to wrap our arms around their trunks. We scrambled onto the roof from the top of a shed  next to the house. We ran across the roof, teasing those who tripped even as we lifted them back up. We split into two groups, one for each tree. Two by two, we leapt from the roof onto the nearest branches and began to climb. Shouting taunts and jokes to one another, we situated ourselves as securely as we could, and held on for dear life. The crashing water felled dozens upon dozens of smaller trees, and with a great creaking groan, the house was ripped from its foundation and swept away.

Well, that’s all, folks. It was a weird one, but really, when aren’t my dreams weird?