Why can’t I just dream about normal things, like wicked witches and flying monkeys?

In last night’s dream, Rukan, Rocky and I were visiting people who seemed vaguely like relatives, in their very large house. I was uneasy as I explored the rooms, on my own. I entered an enormous dining room, and there at the top of the ceiling, near a hole that led to the attic space, was an emerald-green monkey. It was beautiful, and freaky. He had a little monkey, his son, with him. I talked with them a little (they could talk), and tried to overcome my gnawing anxiety.

Then I was in an upstairs bedroom, putting Rocky to bed. I looked out the windows (which took up an entire north wall) and saw storm clouds gathering. I saw three or four little funnel clouds forming. I asked the host what they were; he said they were baby tornadoes, and didn’t seem too concerned. When Rocky was asleep, I stood at the windows, and watched as the little funnels turned into a multitude of tornadoes, ripping across the shadowy yellow landscape. There were more and more of them, dozens of them, snaking eerily around each other under that black sky. I was horrified, but knew there was nothing to be done but hope they didn’t get us.

Rukan and I went out into the night through what looked like open cellar doors, the kind that open up and out, but they were in the same place a regular front door would be. We had to use a bath house that was nearbye. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I followed her, aware of the growing wind and debris around us. It was so dark now that I couldn’t see the tornadoes, but I knew they were there, giant deadly bodies out there in the night, that there could be one bearing down on us at that moment. We reached the bath house. There was a door at either end, and a closed gate in the middle. Rukan said, “Let’s use that one – it’s a shortcut inside.” I looked at it, and had a sense of foreboding. “I’m not going in,” I told her. “This is crazy. We’re going to die out here. Please come back to the house.” We had a nasty argument, and I said, “I’m going back.” I walked away, but my anger evaporated quickly, and I called back to her, “please come back soon.”

I wasn’t sure I could find my way back, since this town was so unfamiliar, but I did. As I stepped in the doorway, a small, finger-thin tornado spun across the threshold right in front of me. The host was there, and as before, did not seem concerned – even though this thing could kill a person. He instructed me to simply step around it, and I did.

Inside, standing above Rocky’s little palette at those big windows, I looked out. Now I could see some light out there. I saw shapes running around the otherwise empty streets. Now, instead of tornadoes, I saw demons – dozens and dozens of them, probably four or five feet tall each, running in packs, ready to mutilate and kill any people they could find. Now, I was really scared. If it wasn’t a nightmare before, it was now.

In the next scene, Rukan and Rocky were gone. I had a yellow dog on a makeshift rope leash. I hugged him close to me, before moving on. It was morning. The air was thin and pale, like a faded yellow watercolor painting. We were walking out of the town, following a mass exodus of bedraggled, exhausted people.


2 responses to “Why can’t I just dream about normal things, like wicked witches and flying monkeys?

  1. I feel jealous! I hardly ever remember a dream and your dream seems so complete.

  2. They’re vivid, epic and very, very disturbing.

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