Dreams

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened.”

Ugh, that is so not the best thing about dreams for me. That moment, just before being fully awake is horrible. I clench my eyes shut tight, hold my breath and strain to hear what else is in my room. Is that rustle the shuffling movement of a zombie? That soft click the gun of a South American dictator’s assassin? Is the creak outside my door the nearing footsteps of a rabid bear ready to attack? These are the things that flit through my mind as I struggle out of dreamland. My dreams, even when they are nightmares tend to be incredibly detailed and very dramatic. Take last night for example…

Some thought it was the end of the world. There were monsters everywhere. Reports varied on whether they were zombified, infected with a virus, demon possessed, or just plain mad. We ran through our neighborhood (the one I grew up in as a child) searching for a safe haven, gathering fellow survivors on the way. We trapped something tall and green in a dumpster and we had to run Bigfoot over with a pickup truck. There was a terrifying moment as we crawled through the broken windows of a house when these dead-eyed mannequins spotted us, but we were able to beat them off long enough to barricade the windows. But we knew we were done for, and we gathered on a mattress in the corner of the room to huddle together and listen to the world ending.

Instead of the end of the world, we heard evil monkey laughter. (Yeah, never say that my mind doesn’t relish in the absurd) We watched as this small teal monkey walked into the room, his red eyes glaring at us. He told us, in quite a scary voice for a monkey (sounded like Tim Curry), that he was somehow at the heart of all the madness outside. I’m sure he would have gone on to explain his reasoning or just what had made him decide that killing off the human population was a good Monday morning activity, but when we heard he was the instigator we tried to kill him. As you do. Tiny Evil Monkey was strong and flung people across the room and into walls, laughing horribly the entire time. I smashed into a dresser drawer and started throwing the broken pieces at the Tiny Evil Monkey in desperation. He stopped throwing people into walls and started impaling them with the weapons I was inadvertently handing him and I had enough. Feeling bits of wood pelting and penetrating me, I ran towards the monkey and drove my spike into him.

There was a silence, like right after lightening, when a sound so loud is coming that it’s sucked up all the noise in advance. Then the monkey’s red eyes exploded and a concussive blast threw us all to the ground. Outside the house we could hear screeches and moans and cries that all ended in explosions. Like a wave of combusting dominoes, monsters went poof all the city. It was several minutes until we stopped hearing the faint echoes of explosions and though we were tired, injured and now covered in Tiny Evil Monkey guts…we celebrated. There was hugging and laughing and jumping around and we were so happy. Someone scavenged food from the fridge and we gathered in the living room to watch TV. Because despite the near-apocalypse, USA Network can be always be counted on for a NCIS marathon.

The next morning, we were making plans for moving out when we heard the first car. Even though this whole situation had lasted just days, the sight of that car seemed it was the first car we had ever seen. We crept to the windows and just stared as it drove down the road, driving carefully among the debris and bodies. There was debate about going out and meeting other humans who had survived, but before someone could make a break for it…we heard the trucks. Big ones with heavy engines and thick tires were nearing us and on instinct alone we shrunk out of sight. I stayed at the window, peeking out to watch as four big trucks rumbled into our neighborhood, carrying multitudes of orange clad prisoners. My eyes widened and I ducked away from the window, cutting a hand across my throat to silence the room. As I looked at our ragtag group of survivors, I wondered if we were truly safe yet.

Then I woke up. I held my breath and listened and decided that no monsters or monkeys were in my room and then I carefully crept to the window looking for signs of life. (It was early (and, you know, a small town) so not much) Eventually I stepped away from the window and started my day, hoping this dream would fade away. Unfortunately, it’s made me incredibly jumpy all day. I keep expecting to see a monster or a prisoner as I turn each corner. When I hear an unexpected noise, I flinch, trying to duck the flailing hands of someone trying to get me.

Oh, my subconscious…you are at times my worst enemy. (Also, a teal evil monkey who could talk? Seriously?)