A Fallen Fairy and Flowers

I was watching this dream the way I watch many of my dreams.  I was inside of a cave – a rather large one whose walls glowed red and hot.  In the center of it, the ground fell out to reveal a deep chasm that burned with fire and scorching embers.  Seemingly nailed high up on the cave walls were […] fairies – thin, delicate, pretty creatures – all hung in a row that encircled the cave.  And from the ceiling there grew the strangest organism – the master of this cave – a thing that was half plant, half animal – tremendously large, nearly filling its entire cave.  It was like a mammoth spider that hung from the ceiling, except instead of legs, it had branches filled with the most beautiful flowers that possessed all sorts of colors and had parts that shimmered and glowed when caught at the right angles.  These branches came in bundles and hung limply like willow wands – each bundle grew its own kind of exotic flower so the flowers were the same within bundles but different from other clusters of flowers.  The organism was able to move its flowery limbs in a circle around the cave so that the flowers brushed across the fairies hanging on the walls.

There were two fairies who weren’t hung to the sides of the cave, and they stood at the small entrance […] that was connected to a tunnel.  The flower organism told them to bring water before it moved its limbs in a full circle around the cave or else it would kill one of the fairies on the wall.  […] the limp flower branches began to move; a bundle of flowered willow wands parted and engulfed a wall fairy within its colorful jaws as if to eat it.  But the organism was only playing, and it withdrew its deadly flowers from around its victim, leaving it unharmed.  Then this giant being moved its limbs and did the same to the next fairy and then to the next – all the while, slowly turning in a circle.  Finally, it got to the last fairy and parted its flowery wands, engulfing the delicate thing within a smother of beautiful, magic flowers.  The fairies on the ground cried, “Quick!  Where’s the water!  Bring it!  Bring it!”  The water had been right outside the entrance all along, but only now, at the very last minute, did they scurry to lug it into the cave in a pail.  However, it was too late.  The organism removed its flowers from around the fairy – and it was as if strings had been cut, for she fell from the wall and into the mouth of the burning chasm below.

[…] they fed the organism the water before somehow pulling the fallen fairy from the depths of the chasm.  She was unconscious – perhaps dead – as she [lay] there on the ground at the edge of the chasm.  She was a very pretty thing, with golden hair and a shimmering golden dress.  There was some water still left in the pail and the other ground fairies (there were now several of them) scurried to try to revive her with it.  It was some sort of magical water and I remember thinking as I looked on, Now that they have the water, they could do it – they could do anything.  But they […] couldn’t revive the fallen fairy.

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Forest of Death

I was standing in the middle of what looked like a dead forest – the bare remnants of some catastrophic fire.  But the trees weren’t burned, or charred, just dead and gray – like a bomb had exploded not far away and left in its wake these bare, silent sticks that rose into the air or fell naked across the ground.  And everywhere there were scattered dead people whose bodies were pierced through by the limbs of the trees – and thus they hung still in their death, with cold, gray branches stabbing through them – through their bellies, through their hearts, through their shoulders – like a most ghastly, grotesque, and twisted crucifixion.

I was aware that a young lady had brought me here – she was not with me but I could feel her presence almost like a ghostly image.  She was wearing green attire – a green, short-sleeved shirt with a long, green skirt that was intricately patterned and made of what seemed like a light, translucent fabric over a darker silk material.  She reminded me of a fairy.

But she was only a light image – very faint and brief in her presence – and I was alone in that forest filled with gruesome death.  I looked around for a moment at the bodies all around me – blue and decayed with dark rings of dried blood surrounding the places where the branches had [bored] holes clear through the flesh – and I screamed. […]

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White Dragon

I was inside a boxcar, moving along the tracks.  When I took a peek outside, I saw a large tornado spinning through the trees, destroying everything in its path.  It headed straight for a ship docked near the shore.  Suddenly, I was at the ship when the tornado exploded into a giant dragon, towering over […] the sailors – its body an almost clear white.  It threw its head back and roared, the flames burning inside of it clearly visible through its translucent skin – the yellow fire rising from its belly and through the length of its neck before alighting its nose for a brief instant and shooting out into the air […].  But this dragon was really the work of a magician and his daughter.  The dragon itself was actually a woman – the daughter, perhaps.  With the magician’s help, she was able to transform herself into a dragon and terrorize the people.  On board the ship, she turned back into a lady, wearing a black outfit and holding a claw.

Across the land, I could see an army of soldiers sent to fight this dragon.  The soldiers were dressed completely in suits of white – plain, skin-tight suits with tight hoods that wrapped around their heads – bare of any armor or decor.  Their only defense were swords and shields of the same white hue.

The magician had a contraption to defend against this pale army – his ambition to kill the army leader.  The contraption looked much like a large, wooden crate supported by four, wooden wheels – like a cart.  Fastened to it, at an upward angle by numerous coils of thick rope, was a spear.  It was like a harpooning contraption.  However, the magician’s daughter somehow got caught in the ropes (I think it was the result of a struggle between the two sides – between the magician and the white army leader) and the ropes […] caught fire, killing the woman tangled within and thus destroying also the white dragon.  But before her death, she murmured something about “the water of life,” perhaps instructing the magician to find it in order to restore her and bring her back for a fiery vengeance.

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Pitch Black

I was watching the news when one of the two news anchors reported that the monsters from the latest movie Pitch Black had escaped and would be up and around come sunset.  The anchors talked about this situation as though it were no big deal – a daily occurrence – and they nodded and smiled casually.

“Yes,” said the other anchor.  “Apparently something went wrong with the monsters they were making for that film – a [glitch].”

“Yes, apparently,” responded the first anchor.  “So just keep your lights burning and don’t wander outside by yourself at night – they tend to pick off the stray ones.”

I was a bit frightened but not panicked.

The next thing I knew, my parents and I were trying desperately to find a hiding place in our house – but we had no fire.  Light from a lightbulb would only hinder the monsters.  We were sitting on our family room floor and I was punching telephone numbers into a cellphone to try and reach friends to see whether they had fire and if so, whether we could drive over and hide with them.  But all the numbers I dialed were busy.  Outside the windows, I could see the sun going down and the gray back of one of the monsters as it walked along just outside the windows.

“Oh!  We’re running out of time!” [m]y mother said to me in Taiwanese.

We could hear people being eaten alive out on the streets.

Suddenly, my dad dashed out the front door.

“Dad!” I cried.  “Don’t go outside!”

But he ran back in, through an adjacent door – right next to the front door – the very next instant with what looked like misshapen cardboard boxes in his hands.  One of them was a distinct red.

I thought, when I looked at them, Oh!  E-mail equipment!  We could try to e-mail our friends and contact them that way!

[…] [A]t a computer, [we] work[ed] on the Internet.  But that didn’t work, either.  We still were not able to contact anyone with a fireplace or torches […].

[…] [O]n the floor, [I] peel[ed] back the carpeting.  I knew there was a hidden door underneath – leading to a cellar where we could possibly hide.  I ripped away at the carpeting until I revealed the door – an old, wooden thing with a black, metal ring […].  I opened it to find a pitifully small space […] that looked like a ripped hole, as if someone had pushed a pencil straight through a sheet of paper, leaving behind a hole with tattered edges – only, it was big enough so that I could’ve [lay] down within it […].

Then I became aware that a group of mailmen were inside our house delivering mail.  They were standing behind the couch, the back of which faces the kitchen – so, in fact, they stood in our kitchen, milling about.  I leapt onto the sofa and spoke to one of them.  “Excuse me, Sir.  But would you happen to have a few torches you could lend us?”

“Of course!” he said.  He was a round, jovial man with a bald head, wearing blue mailmen attire.  He pulled from his pocket two unused torches that looked like rolled up sheets of paper ripped from magazines.  These men had to travel the streets because of their job and so […] they knew how to […] keep the monsters at bay.  “You could travel with us!” [t]he jovial man said.

I knew that I would be safe traveling with them, but for some reason I was reluctant to go.

Then they left and all of a sudden our house was filled with people needing a place to hide. […]

“We’ll hide in the basement!” I told them, since the cellar was far too small.  I remember being a bit apprehensive since the basement was a dark place, but we had no choice.  I glanced furtively at the front door, knowing that the monsters could break it down with ease.  Then I herded them […] down into the basement and turned on all the bare light bulbs – but it […] wasn’t enough light.

I ran back up the basement stairs and turned on the kitchen lights, since the monsters would have to pass through the kitchen before reaching the basement entrance.  Then I saw, filling the entire kitchen floor and extending into the family room, a large number of […] people kneeling in prayer.  They were frightened and praying for their lives – mothers, fathers, children – crouching on the floor.

I closed the basement door as I went back down the basement steps.  I could feel that time was running out – the monsters were going to come any second.  Scrambling down the twisting staircase, I closed door after door behind me – three thin, wooden doors in all, built at regular intervals on the stairs – hoping to slow the monsters as they came.  I thought about the helpless people praying on my kitchen floor, […] Good.  The monsters will eat them first and it’ll buy us more time to get to safety.

I was getting more and more frightened […].  A boy I knew – [Nate] – thirteen years of age in real life but a couple of years younger in my dream – he approached me at the bottom of the basement stairs.  He was with a few children around three years old and they all wanted to go upstairs to find people they knew.

“No, [Nate]!” I cried, roughly seizing his sleeve and pulling him back.  “You can’t go upstairs!”  I was so frustrated because it seemed […] nobody was listening to me or helping […].  Everything was […] becoming hectic and chaotic – and the basement was getting dark.

Suddenly, there were terribly loud screeching sounds as a monster crashed through the first basement door.  I picked up two of the very young children, shouting for [Nate] to take the others to someplace safe – although where that was I [didn’t know].  I ran through the darkness of the basement to where my mother was, standing at a counter performing […] work that involved making some mechanical contraption.  “Where are the torches!” I screamed at her, for I remembered having given them to her.  But she didn’t know and was angry that I had expected something so much from her.

“Well, why don’t you do it, then!” she retorted.

I turned and saw that some of the people were fleeing through a door into a room connected [to] the basement – like a storage room.  But there was no light in the room […].  Even so, the storage room was better than nothing.  “C’mon!  They’ve found a place!” I told my mother.  But she ignored me and turned back to her work.

I didn’t try to persuade her further […].  Still clutching the children, I ran into the storage room where the people were hiding between giant mats lying on the floor.  [Nate] was lying there and I made him move over to make room for me and the kids.  I [lay] there in a fetal position between the mats, horrified that the monsters would find me.  I could feel them right outside the storage area – they had made it down to the basement […].

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Death in a Gothic Cathedral

I was lying in a large bed next to a middle-aged man that I didn’t recognize.  We were in a […] room that was old and [g]othic […] – the ceiling high and painstakingly chiseled to fine detail.  It was like we were in the center of a […] medieval cathedral.  I [lay], shrouded in shadow.  Then I turned […] away from the man, and saw a dead, young woman lying […] next to me.  Her eyes were open and staring blankly […] while blood spilled from the corner of her mouth onto the pillow.  Her neck was […] bent and broken, a deep gash slicing across […] it, oozing blood […].  […]  I got halfway on top of her, grabbing her […] neck […], and proceeded to strangulate [her].  […]  I stopped – suddenly stunned that I had murdered someone.

Then I woke up […].  The clock read 5:30am.  […] as I drifted back asleep, I listened to my breath hissing […].  Gradually, my breathing began to sound like gasping and each time I gasped, I heard a creaking […] coming from the floor beside my bed – […] as if someone was shifting […].  And then I realized that I wasn’t alone – there was an old woman sitting in a rocking chair […] and the steady creaking […] came from her chair […].  She was dead and transparent […].  She saw that I was afraid of her and a slow smile spread across her […] wasted face, revealing […] withered and yellow teeth. […]

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Die Twice

It was the wee hours just before the break of dawn when I woke […] and sat up in bed in that transparent darkness that fills one’s room in the early mornings.  It was exactly the way I wake up every morning – to that exact same lighting (or lack thereof) – before getting ready […].  I got out of bed and saw that my body was still lying down beneath the covers.  I felt […] light and weightless as I floated to the guest room where I saw my mother sitting on the bed, crying.  I was floating above the ground in front of her, but she didn’t see me.  I called out to her several times before she turned to me – finally seeing me hovering in the air – and gasped.

And then it was as if I was being sucked into the dawning sky – through the ceiling and through the roof – and I felt free but, oddly […] hindered as I flew amongst the gray and deep blue clouds.  I remember liking […] flying through the air, but then I became sad because I never got to do all the things that I had wanted […].

And then I had a […] passing thought that this must all be just a dream and I woke up, sitting up in bed in that familiar darkness just before dawn […].  I was so relieved that it was all just a dream – that, in fact, I hadn’t really died.  I got out of bed, glad to see that I hadn’t left my body behind, and proceeded with my morning routine.  I noticed that the light in my bathroom was on and as I walked in, I saw that my mother was in my bathroom, standing at the sink counter.  My makeup was spread […] in a mess in front of her.

“I’m sorry […],” she said to me, her face expressionless as she stared straight ahead into the mirror.  “But I’m going to have to kill you.”

I pretended like I was okay with it, coming forward cheerfully and putting the makeup away.  But deep down I was crushed and afraid. […]

My mom walked out of the bathroom and into her bedroom where she sat down in the darkness at the edge of her bed.  “I’m sorry,” she said […].  “But I have to do it.  You have to die.”

And I had a sinking feeling […] before I woke […] and sat up in bed, my eyes meeting once again, for the third time, that familiar, translucent darkness just before dawn.  I […] wondered whether or not I was really awake this time.  I turned around to make sure I couldn’t see myself still lying in bed.  I walked out into the hallway and saw that my bathroom light was thankfully off. […] It wasn’t until I finally reached school that I became convinced that this time I really was awake.

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Execution

It was as if we were all part of some strange society living under a dictatorship.  There was a […] building […] that I lived in or worked in […].  It was a huge, expansive building that was built with a lot of white and […] glass – quite sleek and modern […].  There was another part of the building – an extension – that was just the opposite.  It was a tremendous outdoor ring that resembled the ones the Romans used […] to entertain themselves with gladiators and fights – and executions.

[…] this strange government ordered the execution of a large group of mostly women […].  I was among the ones to be executed […] in the ring by a firing squad.  It was the night before our execution and we were […] crowded in a corner of the ring musing over our fate.  They were […] talking and I shouted, “Wait a minute!  Why do we have to be executed?  Just because we’re women?”  But they looked at me like I was a lunatic and ignored me.  I kept trying to make them listen, but they wouldn’t.

My parents quickly accepted that I had to be killed.  They were the ones that took me down to the ring.  They started to sell my belongings out on the streets […].

The next day there was a huge line that twisted through the halls of the strange building – a line of people waiting to be shot to death.  I was standing in line, quivering over my fate […].  I saw several of my friends who weren’t going to be killed passing […] by me without even stopping to offer their sympathies.  “Help me!” I cried out to them.  “I’m going to be executed!”  But they just ignored me and kept right on walking. […].

Then [Ana] appeared beside me and she laughed […] and said something that didn’t quite make sense.  “Your mother works in the institution,” I said to her, because I remembered seeing her mother.  “Surely, you can help me.”

[Ana] wasn’t acting very logically, but she did help me.  She led me out of the line and […] through a hidden door in the wall.  And thus I made my escape.

[…]

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