I had a hard time trying to go to sleep last night and it greatly frustrated me. And so I guess that was why I dreamt about trying to fall asleep but being unable to. I was wandering across a mountainous terrain of white rocks broken quite occasionally by beautiful, cascading waterfalls and pools of water. I remember I was looking for something beneath these elusive beds of small, delicate flowers – some engraving, I think. The flower beds were odd in that when I reached them on a white rock face next to a clear pool, they would appear and I could lift up the entire bed like a blanket to peek beneath it. But as soon as I moved away, the flowers blended their pale colors into the white rock on which they grew and thus disappeared.
I crawled along these rocks among all these streams and waterfalls until I [lay] down upon one of the rocks, beneath a blanket of some sorts – perhaps it was beneath one of those clear, almost invisible, flower beds. I remember thinking that if I looked under my blanket, I’d see a stream of water running just past my feet and a bunch of flowers next to my lower leg. I pulled up my blanket to peek beneath it, and indeed this was the way it was – I was sleeping on white rock with a stream and flowers beneath my blanket.
But I kept tossing and turning and couldn’t fall asleep. I then found myself in a house I’ve never seen before but that I recognised as my house in the dream. I was trying to sleep on the couch in the living room – a dark room with a tall ceiling and a large fireplace set with clocks. I remember there being pillars somewhere and a dark kitchen on the other side of a counter.
I then had to go to school. I remember having to go on a field trip, I think, to see an art museum – a fellow student’s work in particular. Going through the hallways was odd – like a rollercoaster ride through wooden, mining tunnels – very convoluted but not quite as dark as mining tunnels would be. It was sort of like I was riding on one of those carts used to transport coal in mines. But I remember colors and other people whizzing by me. […]
I arrived in a main gallery room – with quite a few display cases and a head sculpture swirled with shades of purple. It was a grotesque piece, with many faces on the head – I remember I had a sort of repulsion towards it. This was the fellow student’s art piece – propped up on a white pedestal in the middle of the room. Another girl from my high school was also at the gallery – one whom I wasn’t quite close friends with – I cannot remember who it was or if she exists in real life at all. But I [went] up to this girl and I asked her how much sleep she got the night before. She answered something which I have now forgotten and then returned my question. “None!” I said. “I am so tired!” I thought I had just kept tossing and turning all night for about seven hours.
The next thing I remember, I think I was some strange, nymph-like creature flying around in a sort-of grey, wooded terrain in a square path – or a square room that was truly not a room at all. I flew fast and deft[ly] – maneuvering beneath bare branches and over grey, fallen logs.
When I stopped, I was in a small house – with a typical appearance – white-washed walls and the usual furnishing. But the many people who filled it weren’t all truly people and neither was I – although we appeared so from the outside. We had a master who was derived from me and from this master […] derived all his other followers. Our job was to protect him and serve him – but I think we were part of some larger operation, some larger goal, or purpose. There were those among us who were truly part of the enemy and who sought to kill our master.
Once, one of the people in the house leapt forward to destroy the master, but several of his followers stepped forward and annihilated him with supernatural powers – a glow of pink sparking from their raised palms. I stood by and watched – weaker of the followers even though they were, in truth, all derived from me – even the master. Suddenly, another murder attempt was made on the master’s life – a man in a dark suit, plunging through the crowds with a large, bloody knife – a strange sort of medieval ax with an intricate blade. Directly in front of me, he lunged towards the master with the ax raised above his head. Gasping, I leapt forward and grabbed the man’s grip on his ax, struggling desperately with him. Petrified I was that he would send the blade into my heart as he seemed to be winning the struggle while the other followers looked on with stone faces and robotic postures. I cried out that they should help me. I think it was the master who finally commanded that they do so – and they utilized their powers to destroy the attacker.
I then found myself in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on the counter in front of the master and several other followers who were all preparing a meal – chopping vegetables in particular. The master was the only one who acted human – the other followers all seemed very robotic – like mindless drones, with very precise, perfect movements […]. I was complaining to the master about how none of the other followers lifted a finger to help me. “Well,” said he in an almost casual manner, “if you’d get a figure.” He was commenting on the shape of my body – or lack of shape, rather.
It was sort of a casual conversation and I was half-joking when I said, “What! I have figure! Why, look at – she doesn’t have as good a figure as I and yet – !” I indicated one of the followers who was bringing an armload of vegetables to the counter. Then the drones all began to chop the veggies – extremely fast and precise in their work so that I was taken aback and dismayed at their ability – that I could never work up to their level.
I remember once pleading with the master, saying something like, “Have pity on me, whose body you once inhabited.”
The entire drone house had quite a disquieting feel to it – very white and bare were the walls. There was more to it, I’m sure, but I cannot recall […]. I think I remember something about the ax-murderer being locked in the basement or in one of those underground shelters you enter from the outside of the house – or perhaps it was me locked away. I also vaguely remember blood somewhere – standing out in its red hue amongst the white house. […]