Technicolour dreams
Oct. 19th, 2008 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nishatalithaI woke up this morning with an unusually vivid dream which is still relatively fresh in my mind, breakfast, skimming through a book on shoes and a shower later. It also meant I snoozed my alarm for 40 mins, even though I had set it for when I planned to get up. Sorry, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tamarillow.
Some friends of ours had been captured and were in a cabin with the leader of the guerilla fighters deep within the jungle in the continential United States of America. For some reason, the US troops weren't able or were unwilling to go after our friends - either that, or they were actually trying to plan properly - so the two of us (me and another guy) set off to go and rescue our friends with one pistol between the two of us.
I note that the last time I tried to shoot anything, it was a tin can with a rifle and I missed. That was over ten years ago.
Somehow, we avoided the inevitable booby traps and guerilla fighters and the dream skipped to us parking the jeep at the bottom of the short path up to the dingy cabin where our friends had been taken. I was supposed to go up first, but he went to reconniter the area. But I couldn't wait and not long after went up the path.
Stepped up onto the wooden porch and through the open front door. To the left, in the sunroom was a desk with a dead guy slumped over it. I went through the main hallway of the house, glancing through the doors at the rooms to either side of the hallway. As far as I can tell, it was all clear. The door at the end of the hallway lead into the kitchen. It was quite a big kitchen, but in poor repair. The mainly blue lino that you get in church kitchens was peeling, as was the wallpaper. But in the centre of the room, sitting at a big rickety sqaure table with the guy I had come in with were my friends and few small children. They offered me something to drink out of a ceramic mortar. It looked paint thinner and smelt like alcohol, so was probably sambucca.
I was still holding it when we heard movement in the bathroom, to the left and immediately before the door into the kitchen. It was the only door I hadn't looked through. I threw the pale blue stuff into the guy's eyes and then threw the mortar at him. Unfortunately, it didn't do much damage. I backed into the kitchen and grabbed the butcher's knife. He had a short sword/long knife. He was better than I was. We hacked at each other for a bit until the guy I had come with came up from behind and cut his throat.
Since there were the children there, we stole a bigger vehicle from th guerilla fighters so there was room for us all. Handily it also had a machine gun mounted on the back. The guy drove while I tried to figure out how to reload the machine gun. Half way back to Truth, the small town in the Southwest where we wanted to get back to, we stopped and dumped the machine gun in a river. We also sucessfully avoided the US Army, although if I hadn't woken up properly, I doubt that state of affairs would have continued.
The dream pretty much ended there. It wasn't a nightmare; there was no running, being chased and cornered. It was just unusually vivid. And I had to know what happened because I really became aware of what was happening just as we were about to go up that path.
And now I should do a small amount of study before I catch a bus to go to the church meeting. It's tempting to skip it, but the Call Committee is bringing a name to put to us for our new pastor and I really want to be there for that.
tamarillow. Some friends of ours had been captured and were in a cabin with the leader of the guerilla fighters deep within the jungle in the continential United States of America. For some reason, the US troops weren't able or were unwilling to go after our friends - either that, or they were actually trying to plan properly - so the two of us (me and another guy) set off to go and rescue our friends with one pistol between the two of us.
I note that the last time I tried to shoot anything, it was a tin can with a rifle and I missed. That was over ten years ago.
Somehow, we avoided the inevitable booby traps and guerilla fighters and the dream skipped to us parking the jeep at the bottom of the short path up to the dingy cabin where our friends had been taken. I was supposed to go up first, but he went to reconniter the area. But I couldn't wait and not long after went up the path.
Stepped up onto the wooden porch and through the open front door. To the left, in the sunroom was a desk with a dead guy slumped over it. I went through the main hallway of the house, glancing through the doors at the rooms to either side of the hallway. As far as I can tell, it was all clear. The door at the end of the hallway lead into the kitchen. It was quite a big kitchen, but in poor repair. The mainly blue lino that you get in church kitchens was peeling, as was the wallpaper. But in the centre of the room, sitting at a big rickety sqaure table with the guy I had come in with were my friends and few small children. They offered me something to drink out of a ceramic mortar. It looked paint thinner and smelt like alcohol, so was probably sambucca.
I was still holding it when we heard movement in the bathroom, to the left and immediately before the door into the kitchen. It was the only door I hadn't looked through. I threw the pale blue stuff into the guy's eyes and then threw the mortar at him. Unfortunately, it didn't do much damage. I backed into the kitchen and grabbed the butcher's knife. He had a short sword/long knife. He was better than I was. We hacked at each other for a bit until the guy I had come with came up from behind and cut his throat.
Since there were the children there, we stole a bigger vehicle from th guerilla fighters so there was room for us all. Handily it also had a machine gun mounted on the back. The guy drove while I tried to figure out how to reload the machine gun. Half way back to Truth, the small town in the Southwest where we wanted to get back to, we stopped and dumped the machine gun in a river. We also sucessfully avoided the US Army, although if I hadn't woken up properly, I doubt that state of affairs would have continued.
The dream pretty much ended there. It wasn't a nightmare; there was no running, being chased and cornered. It was just unusually vivid. And I had to know what happened because I really became aware of what was happening just as we were about to go up that path.
And now I should do a small amount of study before I catch a bus to go to the church meeting. It's tempting to skip it, but the Call Committee is bringing a name to put to us for our new pastor and I really want to be there for that.
