I was watching a movie on television except I was inside of it – not participating in it but just within it.  I saw a man – a warrior – wearing odd, intricate armor with a detailed headpiece like something out of a fantasy novel.  He was walking along a most peculiar sort of bridge – a long, slender thing that turned and twisted across the dark surroundings much like a pathway.  This odd bridge was made out of a kind of reddish-brown rock and dirt that matched the twisted mountains in the background.  However, the most unique aspect of this bridge were the arches that curved over it – built of the same rock material.  The setting was such that this intriguing bridge looked not a touch out of place – it fit in perfectly with the dark tones of the sky and the deep red hues of lava that flowed beneath it, covering the entire land.  I got a close-up view of the warrior and saw that he was upon a horse – a white one with an elaborate bridle.  Suddenly, the man lifted his face to the skies, alerted of a possible threat of danger, and his headpiece moved mechanically over the sides of his face as he prepared for a potential combat.

The next thing I remember, he was standing at the foot of a waterfall.  The sky was clear and a leafy, green forest showed itself at the edge of the blue waters.  He was standing within these waters, up to his waist, his helmet off and his long, dark hair hanging in damp, wild strands around a toughened face.  His features were not particularly good-looking […].  He did not seem like the warm, genuine character he is often portrayed as – but instead, like a man hardened by his life, void of any ability to express warmth and affection.  His heart was full of vengeance […], for his younger brother had been murdered.  In front of him, his sister appeared – a beautiful woman in red, flowing garments, also standing in the waters at the base of the falls.  I remember she had long, red hair intertwined with silken ribbons.  She tried to persuade him not to seek vengeance for, I think, the perpetrators were also family.  But the man (Hercules, I now realized) showed no signs of complying.

Suddenly, I saw a giant orca leap from the waters, ascending into the air.  Then I was inside of a cave looking out.  There were two men inside – the perpetrators who were scrambling about as the orca appeared at the mouth of the cave followed immediately by a wall of water which blocked the cave’s entrance, trapping the two men within.  The water did not spill itself into the cave but simply remained where it was, as if behind great glass panes.  I watched as the orca swam away – a dark silhouette within a deep ocean.

The rest of the dream involved the two brothers trying to escape from their prison […].  At one point, I think I became one of the brothers – or perhaps, briefly, I remember once thinking myself Hercules.  Trying to find my escape, I recall climbing out of the cave, along its steep sides.  I think I was looking for a way to rescue my brother who was still waiting for me inside – for the plan was for me to return.  I remember clinging to the slippery, moss-covered rocks, making my way around until I was almost to the cave’s mouth, when I came upon shelves of books which I felt compelled to rescue.  I tried carrying them by the armloads but they fell to the ground and I was only able to salvage one – Le Petit[] Prince.  I dashed back to the cave and slid it onto a shelf but I saw that I already had a copy of it.  I might’ve taken it out again – I don’t remember – but I think I tried convincing my brother to help me rescue the books.  As we were attempting to do so, the cave began to collapse. We were clinging to the outside of it, trying to salvage the last of the books – only the cave no longer appeared to be a cave, but instead, appeared more like an ancient Greek structure with white pillars – much smaller, though, almost diminutive in comparison to the actual buildings.  This structure started to cave in, the pillars crumbling and the roof threatening to fall in.  With all my strength, I held it up – just a second longer, so the books could be evacuated.  I was Hercules, I could do it, I thought.

I don’t remember whether or not my brother and I succeeded, for that is all I could recall of the dream.

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I was in my school, except it did not look the way my school looks – I didn’t notice this, of course.  I remember walking down a flight of metal stairs that resembled an indoor fire escape.  There were a large number of students crowding down these steps, making their way to their next class.  There seemed to be a commotion coming from the upper floor, near the top of the stairs, and all of a sudden all the students got real anxious and scared, shoving each other to make it to the bottom of the staircase as fast as possible.  Reaching the bottom floor, I passed a boy my age who stood transfixed, his head tilted up and his eyes looking up through the metal frame of the staircase in the direction of the commotion.  “What’s going on?” he whispered dreadfully.

I scurried to find my next class – that if I reached it I might be safe.  Somehow, I was on the second floor again, completely lost and unable to find my way.  Then I think I asked someone who pointed me in the direction of a classroom right around the spot where I had been frantically turning in circles.  Oh, it was right here all along, I thought.  Upon entering [the classroom], it was distinctly bright, filled with a sunny-yellow color.  I must have been early, for there were only one or two other people in the room.  I waited a[]while, and pretty soon the classroom was relatively filled.  The teacher began the class and started a conversation regarding the commotion […].  “That’s why we are all here,” she said.

Then I looked over at the doorway and saw a student dressed in black standing right outside with a machine gun in hand.  I knew he had been the cause of the commotion, or at least was associated with it somehow.  He pointed his gun into the classroom and began firing in rapid succession […].  All the students leapt from their chairs to duck beneath their desks.  I cowered between a desk and a wall before I realized that all the students around me were dead.  […]  I began to check my body to see if I had been shot, and indeed I had been.  A bullet had grazed my lower back, near my spinal cord, and the wound began to sting as I realized its presence.

The next thing I remember, I was trying to make my escape out the window onto the flat roof protruding from the lower floor.  The boy with the machine gun was gone, but I was still searching for safety.  On the roof right outside the window was a rock band playing music that […] somehow revitalized me […].  In my search for safety, I climbed onto the rooftop.  The band was gone.  Instead, on the ground below me, standing at attention like soldiers awaiting their orders, were three students dressed in everyday attire – regular shirts and jeans.  They were calm and happy – here, I thought, with them I could find safety.  I scurried down to stand at the end of their line next to a rather big, rotund boy.  I think […] a smaller, skinnier girl [stood] next to him and another girl next to her.  Just when I thought I was safe, a student gunman appeared some distance in front of us and began firing.  Instinctively, I ducked in back of the rotund boy, using his body as a shield against the bullets.  In the next instant, all three students were dead on the ground.  But I was still alive and relatively unscathed.  I thought the gunman might not notice me or leave me for dead, but he saw me, or perhaps another of his friends […] pointed me out to him.  Either way, I was discovered and became the target of his shooting.

I don’t recall what happened after, but I think here I got a flash of the [occurrences] in another part of the building where I wasn’t physically present but was only an invisible observer.  There was a group of about ten to fifteen men in what looked like a warehouse.  There was one gunman lurking somewhere between all the shelves of supplies, hunting the unarmed group of men.  But the men got it in their heads that if they all charged simultaneously at the gunman, they could kill him and thus save the students present elsewhere in the school, even though they understood that some of them would have to be sacrificed in the process.  Thus, when they spotted him at the end of an aisle […], they charged forward with screams […] [amidst] flying bullets.  They all reached him and crushed him against the wall, killing him.  As they moved away, some giving each other high fives with broad grins of victory on their faces, I noticed some [lay] dead upon the ground and one man’s face I noted in particular – twisted and deformed in death, it had a yellowish hue to it and a troll-like quality to its features.  I noticed that this man’s right eye was missing – somehow gauged out or blown away while he heroically sacrificed himself for the sake of others.

And then I was at the front of the school.  The police had arrived and I felt a sense that the danger was over – help had finally arrived and we would all be saved.  A news reporter was detailing the events.  “Students are now filing out of the building,” I heard her report.  I was standing directly outside the front doors talking to a few other students when a student gunman appeared, threatening my life.  Suddenly, a girl pulled out a handgun and shot the gunman in the head, saving my life.

And then we were all sent home.  I was suddenly […] happy as I walked to my car, feeling as though nothing particularly [traumatizing] had happened – that everything was normal again.  As I was driving home, I got lost – the roads twisted and turned in and out of each other and I couldn’t find my way.  I somehow made it back to my school, but upon entering it, found that it was a church. […]

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I remember a beautiful woman was standing in a rowboat with two of her man servants who each had an oar in his hands, rowing the boat across what I assume to be waters.  One of the man servants was sitting in the front of the boat and the other was sitting in the back with the lady standing between the two.  I got the impression that she was a queen of some sorts – she had an imperial air about her, with long, dark, curly hair that fell across a body covered in a rich, deep red, silken robe trimmed with golden threads.  Her face wore a stringent expression and her eyes were painted beautifully and elaborately.  Suddenly, I became aware that they were rowing towards a shore which harbored a most strange sort of siren – male, I think he was, and instead of singing he recited powerful words, luring the [travelers] onto his shore.  The man servants frantically rowed with all their might against the siren’s call – struggling with every [ounce] of strength in them.  Finally, they were able to break free, beaching their tiny rowboat on a hard shore studded with pebbles.  The man servant who had been in the back, leapt out, heaving with exhaustion but possessed with a fierce anger.  He was breathing hard as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before using that same hand to point at his mistress.  “The next time you think about doing something like that – !” he screamed at her, and I was surprised that he had the audacity to address her in such a manner.  The woman and the other servant were also on the shore and she turned that same stern face in the agitated man’s direction, looking upon him as though he were a lesser being.  The man cried out at her, “Feed your people!”

And then I think they sailed on, or perhaps they continued on foot.  Either way, I became the woman, for I looked out through her eyes and saw a gorgeous building on the siren’s shore as it toppled to ruins, the archaic walls and pillars falling out and turning to rubble.

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Strange Land

There was a dark tone throughout this entire dream – as if, the entire time, the weather was cloudy.  The first thing I recall was that I was at some carnival or festival with [Alana] and [Kris].  I walked towards a cluster of trees from where [Abigail] suddenly leaped, seizing me and pulling me into the trees.  I cried out for [Alana] to help me – I was being kidnapped!

[Abigail] had her arms around my waist and was carrying me like I was some living, oversized stuffed animal.  She took me to the other side of the trees to a hidden land.  There, we approached a river with wrecked cars […] on the shores, some still partway in the water – much [like shipwrecks].  [Abigail] proceeded to take me across the waters and we had already waded well in, up to our waists, when a crash-test dummy leaned out the window of one of the wrecked cars.  He warned [Abigail] not to cross the river – that to do so would mean death.  I got the impression that [Abigail] was a very valuable person in this land – a queen or a leader of sorts.  [Abigail] heeded the dummy’s warning and backed out of the river with some resentment.

The next thing I knew, I think I was rescued.  I was riding in the back of my mom’s car with my mother at the wheel when I saw [Alana] riding a bicycle along the side of the road.  We were still in [Abigail’s] strange land but were quickly making our escape.  Upon seeing [Alana], I thought, I knew she’d come to rescue me!  I told my mother to stop the car and invited [Alana] in.  Then I found myself in the front passenger seat and [Alana] in the back.  She was smiling and happy she had a ride – glad, also, that she had found me.  I asked her how she had found her way here and she told me she had crossed the river.  Upon hearing this, I became sad because I knew that crossing the river meant death.  But I didn’t tell [Alana].  I didn’t let her know that she was going to die – that in her attempt to rescue me, she had sacrificed her own life. […]

Then I remember [Alana] and I making our way across rocky, treacherous mountain paths covered with ice and snow.  We were climbing this mountain to reach a house at its very peak in an attempt to find [Abigail] there – that perhaps she could show us a way out of this strange, grey land of hers.  Funny, that the enemy should now become an ally.

We reached the house and, inside, I saw that it was an odd, convoluted thing made of wooden planks with many different floors and separate rooms.  This house was scattered with a great many Asian people of all ages – from tiny toddlers barely able to walk, to old men and women bent over sticks and canes.  [Alana] and I wandered through this house but we could not find [Abigail].

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The color was beautiful – bright and vivid.  Everything had a creamy feel to it – an almost pastel hue.  I remember standing at the head of a river or a stream.  This flowing body of water was surrounded, on either side, by fairly large, rolling hills that were mostly olive green in color but showed the occasional sign of a yellowish-tan.  I think I arrived at this point after making a long and arduous journey through tunnels in a wet and slimy cave.

I wasn’t alone where I stood, nor did I make the journey alone.  There were about a dozen other people with me and they were all swimming across the river – not horizontally, from shore to shore, as one would assume, but with the river’s flow, from head to tail.  It was a sort of baptism and we all wore the white robes.

It was my turn to swim across this river.  The river wasn’t very long, for I could see its end a ways in front of me.  It ended where the hills closed around it and a giant sewer pipe emerged from the land.  Next to me was my friend [Olivia], who was a very devoted Christian.  I haven’t seen, nor talked with her for years in reality.  But in my dream, we were to forge through this river together and she was scared.  “Don’t worry,” I said to her.  “I’ll go with you.”  Then I told her to hold my hand as I reached out and took hold of her.  There was something very important about our holding hands – that if we didn’t let go, we’d make it.  And so, holding each other’s hands, we dove into the river.  But I couldn’t hold on and I started to sink.  At some point, I decided that I couldn’t make it – I wasn’t strong enough nor determined enough.

The next thing I knew, I was looking down at the river from one of the surrounding hills, watching all the Christians swimming around below me.  One by one, with great, spirited effort, they labored through it and arrived on the other side […].  I thought as I watched, Boy, those Christians sure are crazy.  But I smiled at them and [was] fond of them.

Right before the end of their journey, they had to crawl through the sewage pipe filled with a rich, green slime.  At some point, it wasn’t [Olivia] but [Ana] who was putting herself through this baptismal.  [Ana] managed to make her way through all the slime and I greeted her at the end.  Her entire body, especially her head and face, was covered in a pale green, translucent slime.  But she was all smiles and jubilation as she touched the slime [on] her with both hands.  As she brought her hands away, the slime stuck to her fingers and stretched out in long, slimy streaks.  She was all exhausted, dirty, but happy and triumphant.

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In the beginning, I was watching a small tiger cub catch its food.  It didn’t look real but instead animated like it was part of a video game.  The entire scene was set against a dark background with the foreground figures in bright colors – almost [fluorescent] in their bright pink, orange, and yellow hues.  The next thing I noted was the tiger cub flying into the air and it [shrank] down to the size of an ant as it flew towards a giant tree.  On this tree was a whole jungle of different animals the size of small insects – there were caribou, elephants, giraffes… all running around over the tree limbs, over the trunk – swarming all over it like a […] colony of ants.

To protect themselves against predators, like my tiger cub, these insect-sized animals would all swarm together to form a giant animal – like a great, full-sized giraffe.  I saw these tiny animals stack upon each other in a gigantic swarm until that swarm was in the shape of a giraffe and I thought,  With such a defense mechanism, it’s a wonder the predators get to eat at all.  Just then, I saw a bug-sized wolf who had missed his prey hanging by his teeth from a hole on the side of the tree.  “I know,” he managed to say to me, in response to my thought.

Then, I suddenly realized that I was watching this dream on television.  I was in a living room with a light, pale carpet and there were two or three others watching the television with me.  There was also a pale, peach couch against the wall but I was lying on the floor on top of my pet lion.  I realized that I was on top of my lion and so I moved away from her.

The next thing I remember, I was in some shipping yard where I saw, displayed in wooden crates, quite a few, small cabbage patch heads waiting to be bought, and thus, set free.  Someone approached them but they grew afraid and shivered, drawing back into their crates.  I wanted to save these poor cabbage patch heads and so I bought two of them.  I wasn’t supposed to buy [any more] cabbage patches but I saw that my pet lion was one of these unfortunate cabbages and so was a girl […].  I had to buy these last two cabbage heads, for they were my friends and so I bought them with a forged name.

I was trying to make my escape with all my cabbage heads when I was found out.  There were a few guards who tried to stop me.  I looked around me and said, “Where’s my pet lion?” – as a way to intimidate the guards.  It worked.  The guards were frightened by the prospect of my lion tearing them to pieces, and thus they left.


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I think it was the early eighteen hundreds because of the way the townspeople were dressed.  I was in one of those large dresses typical of that time – nothing fancy or elaborate but not too dull at the same time.  It looked like some sort of simple festival was going on at the town square – for a bunch of men and some women were all clustered together in the midst of some active game, all running across the cobbled streets with laughs and cries of exhilaration.  I was among the spectators who crowded around the players, clapping my hands and [craning] my neck to catch a glimpse of what was going on.  For a moment, I took a brief pause in my excitement and stepped back to the fringes of the crowd where I deliberately made the decision to stand next to a German man whom I knew to be Ludwig van Beethoven.  I didn’t look at him or pay special attention to him – just kept my neck [craned], my eyes focused ahead, and my hands clapping.  He looked at me calmly, at how excited and happy I was, and then he said, “Would you like to come to dinner with me?”  I was astounded, aghast – and altogether thrilled as I accepted his invitation.


I remember being in a store with him once – it looked strikingly modern, like a [JCPenney] or the makeup section at Macy’s.  There were whitewashed walls and long counters with mirrors and jewelry.  Beethoven and I were laughing and joking as I led him up to one of the counters and I looked at myself in a small mirror propped up on the countertop.  It was one of those typical mirrors that department stores usually have on their make-up countertops – with those fake gold-metal linings.  The reflection that I saw was a young girl in her late teens who was as cute as anything.  She resembled me in a way, only much lovelier, and with a face that was all smiles.  No wonder Beethoven loves me, I thought.  I’m prettier than anything.  My dark hair was done in elaborate braids – pulled back in two fishbones, I think, that ran across the sides of my head.  It was hard to tell exactly what hairstyle I had from the reflection.

Beethoven […] reached forward and picked up a set of beautiful earrings – one in each hand.  They were small hoop earrings, studded with rows and rows of tiny diamonds – they were absolutely gorgeous.  He held them up next to my face, right underneath my ears – and they made me look even more lovely.  “Oh, they’re wonderful!” I exclaimed.  “They’re so beautiful!”  And so he bought them for me.

The next thing I remember, we were in a bookstore together – a modest one with wooden walls and a single storekeeper behind a small, wooden counter – early nineteenth century again.  I think [Beethoven] was looking out a window, all sullen and worried, and I was coming to the realization that he was deaf.  I noticed that he never responded to anything I said unless he could see and read my lips. […]

Napoleon was invading and we were grim as we stood in the bookstore.  Beethoven wanted to save the books from being burned and so […] we pulled the books from the shelves in a frenzy, loading as many as we could into a cloth bag that I carried.  I asked him some urgent question that I can’t quite remember – something like, “But what if they don’t know…?”  I was referring to Napoleon’s troops.  However, Beethoven couldn’t hear me.  I touched him on the shoulder so that he turned and looked at me while I repeated my question.  But the time was too chaotic and I said it too fast – he did not understand me – was unable to read what I had to say.  He embraced me anyways and told me what to do with the books.  Then he left ahead of me, walking out the front door.  I remember thinking about how misunderstood the man was.  And I remember seeing a glimpse of myself running after him in my big long dress – down a dirt road in the middle of town.  As I ran, I thought, Who would’ve known that from dinner would come this? […]  And I was so glad he had asked me to dinner.

Then I was back at the bookstore, walking out the front door and leaving the books next to the front steps in a bag that was now plastic.  It was what Beethoven had told me to do.  I looked out at the town and saw a great many people lying dead or dying upon the ground – civilians that Napoleon’s troops had slain.  To my left I saw a woman on the ground […].  To my right, Beethoven was making his way among these dead – hurrying towards a particular building.  I picked up my skirt and ran after him.  As I did so, I noticed that my skirt felt like plastic bags. […]

I followed Ludwig into the building, which was all fancy and lavishly adorned inside – like a nineteenth century palace.  There were a number of gentlemen in a particular room going about business – dressed in suits appropriate for the time.  As Ludwig entered, one of the gentlemen – rather round in face and feature – approached him and greeted him with, “How’s that ringing in your ears, Sir?”  Apparently, they either did not know of Ludwig’s condition or were making fun of him for it.

Ludwig ignored the man and proceeded to the desk of another gentleman who was taller, more well-built, and more business-like than the previous gentleman.  This man had a dark mustache and wore over one eye a spectacle attached to a cord.  Beethoven threw what looked like a manuscript in front of the man upon his desk.  The two argued about the books Beethoven had been trying to save.  There was some elaborate scheme, but ultimately, the gentleman wound up taking the credit for rescuing the books.

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