A Dream I Had: Floor Game

So this dream I had last night started with a single scene, flickering:

I am standing outside an old movie theatre. It’s glowing white against a black night, and the marquee tells me that it is an altar to Diana. I have no associations with Diana.

Now that I try to remember, I know she is a huntress.

In the next memory scene I am in a beat up old car with 3 guys I was friends with in undergrad: Dave, Scoob (Yes. It was undergrad.) The 3rd I can’t see.

I leave them parking the car and walk up to my parents’ new house. In real life, my parents recently did some renovations, but this is an entirely different place, absurdly tall and dream weird.

The colours around it are like water colour. Blurry and saturated. The driveway is huge and painted in massive geometric angler shapes, white and dark blue. My mom yells from a window not to walk on the driveway, so I leave the boys behind and go climb in through a side window.

Inside there is no one around. It’s dim. There are tiny sculptures made of small pieces of wood stacked and carved in elaborate jengas and patterns all over the floor, which I know I’m still not allowed to walk on.

So I climb on top of a door and it swings wide, and the door itself unfolds into more doors on hinges as I hang on. It swoops me across the room.

From the top of the door once it’s unfolded I can reach a small, high window. I climb through, and jump, and land on the end of a high loft bed where my step dad, John, is sitting grading papers. He’s annoyed at being interrupted, and I say don’t worry, I won’t bring my friends through here.

Back on the street I am barefoot, skipping barefoot through rotting bananas and big, black sticky fruit on the street. The run-off from a honey factory.

In the next scene I am cleaning up after a murder.

I’m with Dave and I don’t know who was killed, or who did the killing.

We are in a small room in a basement, and it is very important that, as he lifts things, I blow sand into piles under them so nothing looks disturbed.

The door is partially open, and through the crack I see a skinny pair of legs waiting for us on the stairs, and a white cat, watching.

As I wake, an upbeat, automated voice informs me that we have improved our phone help line satisfaction by 25%.

I’m very pleased.

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Posted in Dreams, Writing by Risa Dickens.