Dream #1

I'm used to having really strange dreams.  So, this one was nothing out of the ordinary.  The sense of fear, the panic:  used to it.

Basically, I was at my old house.  Things are getting foggy in my mind now, so bear with me.  I remember being at the table in the kitchen, three or four strange people eating with me.  Across from me sat a tall, dark-haired man with scruff, body built like a lean (but strong) construction worker.  His eyes were frightening when he got mad, for they sparked anger.  They must have been a lighter color; I seem to see more expression in those sometimes than darker ones.  He had taken some giant poster of mine and was opening it up and crumpling it, which angered me, and I fought with him on not ruining it, which he did anyhow.  Mind you, this was a dream, so it really does make no sense at all, and, therefore, this part was rather strange.  I ended up being a hostage in my own home.

Fade into another scene that I recall.  Looking out the front window in fear and sadness as this group of people, the ones that had been at the meal, knocked on my neighbor down the street's door, pretending to want to see their fabulous house (It was rather fabulous, so much so that the house, at the push of a button, pulled itself apart to expand to reveal a game room that some of the family members were playing ping pong at, then closed again.) but with the intention of somehow robbing them.  All I could do was watch, scared, with my boyfriend (also hostage with me) for company.  I remember thinking to myself, Why don't we escape now?  But that wasn't possible, because, in my dream, I knew I couldn't, because, well, something terrible would happen.  They'd hunt us down; it wasn't worth the risk.

Fade to another scene.  This scene was more like a feeling.  I was woozy and blacking out, afraid.  I didn't quite understand what was going on while I sat on the family room floor, beige carpet under my bottom, feeling it in between my fingers.  It was like someone was playing with the dimmer on a light, up, down, up, down.  All I knew was fear and uncertainty; something bad was happening.

Fade to following my boyfriend, who was putting on his shoes, afraid that if I didn't reach him in time, he'd leave without me.  I, still woozy, hobbled across the family room, through the kitchen, to the laundry room to put on my shoes, too, and head to the garage.  I wasn't sure where we were going, but I knew it was bad.

Fade to being in the car with my boyfriend, driving somewhere.  We were on a mission to help these bad people.  If we didn't, who knows what would have happened.  In my mind, again, I thought, Why don't we just escape now, take the car and go get help.  Why can't we just run away now?  But we couldn't.

Fade to more driving in the car.  My boyfriend was freaking out.  He told me that we should have told him I was coming with him, we didn't check in on time, you were already late (on coming with him), something something...  I could hear panic in his voice through his slightly angered-through-frustration voice.  All I knew was that I was afraid again, and we were driving back to my house (Going the wrong way, mind you - hey, it's a dream - the way that I'd go to high school each morning those years ago...very odd.).  I told him that I didn't feel good, that I felt that I had been drugged.  He drove fast, and I was afraid of what would happen if I fell asleep.  Everything was still pulsating black and my body felt heavy and hard to control.  What would happen if I fell asleep?  Would I be hurt, tortured?  Would they have more control over me, would it be even more hard to try and escape this situation?

And, then, I woke up, afraid to go back to sleep.