What's going on in your head?
What are you currently dreaming about in your sleep?
Weird stuff. Stuff that makes me wonder what in the world my mind was thinking.
I've been keeping a dream journal as of late because I find a lot of them interesting, but today I just really didn't want to write it down. It made me extremely uncomfortable, and thankfully I almost have forgotten it.
But in the spirit of the post, I shall share one I did feel comfortable writing down:
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"It was a mansion. Old, rickety, timeless, and still in use for purposes that extended beyond a dwelling place.
We were gathered. Lots of different people. Why and when was not known to me. All I knew was we all felt uncomfortable. We didn't belong here. And we needed to escape.
Any attempt to map out the place replaced our understanding of the place as a house and more as a maze. Most walls were brown, furniture crushed in unorthodox stacks littered the corners, and vegetation covered the spaces in between. Roaming through the halls and rooms simply fed our desperation.
And then a presence, a powerful presence, came into our midst. It summoned us to one of the innermost rooms. One of clean white ivory walls where the long room split in two sections: one of a prepared seating area like park tables with fixed bench seating, and the other area a clear area where a small kid stood.
In an instance we knew our destiny: execution. Additionally, we knew someone was on their way to save us, but not all of us. Some of us would surely die.
The powerful presence asked us which of us would like to go first. I thought about volunteering as the idea that my life would surely be spared meant that in going first we would all be saved. But fear and doubt shrank me.
Some big guy decided to be the first. He stood a mere 6 feet away from the kid. And it began.
The man showed visible distress as the air around him heated up, but sank his thumbs into the eyes of the boy. Both backed off and yelled in their own ways. The man now fell to the ground as his flesh ran off his bones like plastic.
The boy looked to be in pain, but he began to heal. We had hope, but it fell away like how the man fell away—melting away.
An influx of new people was rounded up into this room. In the commotion I cowered underneath one of the tables awaiting a savior. Hoping to not die in such a way and hoping not to have to fight tooth and nail for a life I knew not would be after evading execution. What was this place? I shivered and cowered alone underneath that table as the next victim stepped up to face the boy."