Dream a Little Dream…

So, I’m currently on attempt #1726 to give the evil cancer sticks the old heave ho and, five days in, it’s actually going pretty well. I’m doing an overnight job dismantling the Rolling Stones gig in Hamburg on the weekend though. We’ll see how well it’s doing after four or five hours of lugging lights and speakers about for geriatric millionaires.

One side effect that I’ve noticed on this attempt is that I’m starting to remember my dreams. Now, for some (or even most) of you this shouldn’t seem like anything strange. Well, I think it’s probably more than ten years since I really remembered my dreams, probably closer to fifteen. So to have them return now is, to be honest, pretty bloody awesome. Especially given how vivid and downright weird they have been.

I want to record some of this one here before it completely slips away. That I can still remember it more than twelve hours after waking is also pretty amazing for me.

So, from what I can remember, the dream mostly featured me and a friend with their young daughter. The friend in my dream wasn’t anyone I recognise and nor was their daughter. I also don’t recall much of their personality. But we’re travelling together. Actually; fleeing is a better term. We’re fleeing through my home town in South Wales desperately trying to escape a terrifying woman who is pursuing us.

The woman is only walking after us but she never seems far behind. She has shortish dark hair and is wearing a hospital gown. She can’t walk properly and her one foot drags slightly behind her as though she is heavily medicated but fighting through it. In one hand she limply holds a sawn off shotgun whilst her other twitches and clutches at the air to her side. Her face is contorted in either anger or fear, or possibly sorrow, and she’s screaming. She’s screaming and wailing and it’s the most terrifying sound that I’ve ever heard.

No matter how far or how fast we run, we even steal a really classy 1950s American car at one point, she is always just behind us. We can tell when she’s drawing near as the people around us begin to get paranoid and begin to blame us for things that have gone wrong in their lives. One of them, a bald man in his late fifties or early sixties, was blaming us for his first wife leaving him decades ago and the way that his father treated him as a child.

At one point we were stood high upon a hill, a cartoonishly steep version of the hill I lived upon as a boy, and we could see her walking along the road far below us. As she walked; those around her stopped what they were doing, those who were driving slowed and stopped before stepping out of their motors. They stood staring blankly ahead as she shuffled between them and, after a few moments of staring, their jaws dropped open and blood poured from their mouths red-washing their clothes and pooling about their feet.

I’m not sure how the dream ended though I get the impression that we were in a Gothic European castle in the American outback. Which was also South Wales. Dream logic eh? 🙂

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