Dream: a non existent address in the forest

This dream starts in the carpark of my apartment. Being inside it’s hard to know what time of the day it is. Everything looks fairly unremarkable; P and I are standing next to my car, both wearing Miami J collars. My collar is bright red and his collar is the usual dark blue variety. We try to kiss goodbye but our collars clash and we cannot reach each other.

Drive carefully, you already have a broken neck. He touches my arm and I get into the car.

I drive alone for a long time, and eventually reach a very rural area. The road meanders down some green hills and I come to a rusty looking farm gate. The driveway is gravelly and there are no signs of life all around. I pull up at the farmhouse and get out of the car. The fibro cottage is quaint and surrounded by a few rosebushes.

Suddenly my mother rushes out of the house.

Hurry, we must go now. She grabs at my arm and pulls me down a side path leading away from the house. There is a man that is trying to kill me.

We get further and further away from the house until it is just a dot in the distance. Crossing a flat field, we come to a dense forest. As we are about to enter the forest I ask her whether we should tell someone where we are going.

If you want, but really we have to hurry. She says.

I take out my phone and open the Whatsapp conversation with P. I start typing the address 45a / 127 but the phone keeps erasing the address over and over again. I cannot even get to the street address (I never find out what it is) because it erases itself so many times.

Without noticing, we have gone further into the forest. The canopy becomes increasingly dense and the light fades gradually. I hardly realize how I am tripping on the roots of the old trees, so concentrated I am on trying to send the address.

But it is a futile task as the message keeps erasing itself. I look up and see just how dark it has become, but suddenly I see a clearing in the distance, a funnel of light peeking through the trees.

As we get closer, I am filled with anticipation at the thought of light.

Then I see a fat and balding middle aged man I do not recognise, standing in the middle of the clearing. He is holding a huge curved knife, not unlike the ones in the pirate movies.

I feel chilled to the core with the realisation I am going to die. Then I wake up.

Dream: the revolution, and two hands

P and I are sitting on a bus. It's hard to tell where we are - the bus is neither old nor new, and looks non descript enough that it could be anywhere in the world.

Looking out the window, it is clear that we are in the countryside. At first the fields look fairly normal - sort of green, lots of farmers milling about, the odd cow. Then I look closer and everything is weird. There is a windmill next to a farmhouse which has rainbow coloured blades, and when it whirs together the windmill looks like a technicolour extraordinaire. A group of farmers walk past, dressed as clowns with luridly white faces and strange wigs. Oddly shaped unidentifiable objects are sitting in the middle of fields, as if they were droppings from alien spaceships.

I need to show you something. P suddenly says. But I can't show you right now.

He punches the window and it shatters noiselessly. At that moment the bus tilts slightly to the left and he takes the opportunity to jump out the window before I can say anything to him. As the bus drives off I look out the window and he is running along a muddy track in the fields, wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. But he doesn't wear glasses, I thought to myself.

I move into his window seat and keep looking outside at the strange landscape. The bus meanders along and we come to a ricketty bridge. The bus groans its way onto the bridge and moves so slowly that we can feel every sway of the bridge. Suddenly there is an impossibly loud bang, and I hear the noise before I feel the motion of my body through the air. The bus has exploded and I am flying through the air, falling helplessly.

And then I am sitting perfectly still inside a boat. I don't remember the actual fall or how I came to be there, but I am sitting on a little stool in front of a table. Next to me is an old man wearing a broad rimmed hat, and next to him sits an old lady wearing a shawl, with her long grey hair in plaits. They talk to each other in a language that I don't understand. I look around and try to gather some clues, but aside from the green bobbing water, I can see very little. The riverbank is so high that I can no longer see the fields, so I don't even know if I am still in the strange land.

Suddenly, P appears from nowhere. The boat is so small that it just barely fits me and the old couple, so I wonder where he has come from. He sets down a few dishes on the small table and the old couple gestures for me to join their lunch, even though I don't understand what they are saying.

P whispers to me, this is the president and his wife. They are peering at us curiously and I wonder how such an old man could be the president. You have to distract them while the revolution is going on. 

I look at the dishes set out - fish stew with rice, and a pot of soup with the lid still on. The old lady is tucking in with gusto, picking out bones from the fish as she eats hungrily. The old man chews slowly, as if he is deep in thought. Everything is silent and the atmosphere feels thick and hostile.

They gesture again for me to eat.
No como pescado. I say to them.

They laugh and the lady sucks on a bone she has picked out from between her teeth. The old man gestures to the soup. I open the lid and it looks like lamb soup (I don't know how I come to this conclusion in the dream). There are speckly fatty bits floating on top of the soup and it looks highly unpalatable, but I think to myself that I should drink some soup to appear friendly.

I take my plate of rice and dip the soup ladle in to get some soup, trying to miss the chunks of lamb bones. My ladle brings up soup.. and a hand, a human hand cut off at the wrist. It can only be a human hand in that shape - perfectly shaped finger nails, a few hairs on the first phalanx - a man's hand. I gasp and drop the ladle with the hand in it back into the soup. The sound of the splash alerts the old man and he narrows his eyes at me. Shaking whilst pretending to be calm, I pick up the ladle and try again - this time I get the other hand - and there it is, a pair of hands, the left and right hands staring at me from the ladle.

My heart pounds wildly and I open my mouth to scream. I feel P's large warm palm clamp itself over my mouth, slightly damp (from sweat? from blood?). It stops my scream from forming. Then I wake up.

(The first vivid dream of 2016)