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thedarksiren2I was shopping last-minute, as I usually do, but it was for Christmas, so we establish that the timing is a little off, first thing. Wandering around a place similar to World Market, I find tiki torches and other fire-related products. We had to keep warm, going camping and all. Teri doesn't like camping though. In fact, she hates pretty much anything to do with everything, so I frown because I cannot find her a Christmas/ birthday gift (her birthday IRL is the 24th). Just then I found the best hammock imaginable, filled with toys and colors...it was beautiful. I grabbed it and walked to my car.
I don't know how I got there or what happened in between (something did, but it apparently wasn't interesting enough for me to remember). I was at Cooper's Lake Campground, home to Pennsic Wars and partying, people dressed in garb, although no one was dressed up at all. In fact, it was more like an Irish festival than a Pennsic War. I jumped out of my dad's van (which was what I drove there...no clue where Fairuza went), noticing the intensely purple velvet skirt I was wearing, and admiring it for quite some time with my right hand. I ran my fingers up and down my legs, still holding fire supplies in my left hand, only it was my right hand because a mirror-image smacked me in the face, and lightning struck somewhere, so I looked up, my eyes colored with the fires all around me, keeping others warm. It was still daylight though, so I had time to make my fire, and I dropped the skirt from my fingers. A large shadow like a breath raced behind me/ beside me/ above me/ through me, and I gasped for a moment. The air was moist where it had been, and I savored its taste in my mouth for a moment before I became frightened and ran to find my father.
When I found him, he was smoking a cigarette, shaking his head irritatedly at the chaos all around. I looked up the hill just in front of our camp and noticed the dozens of cars that had parked there had been smooshed together because of a mudslide, and we had no access to fire-starting because of it. Not enough air, too much moisture in the shadows. I had a strange sense of suffocating then, and he ran by me, tickling my ear as he whispered my name. I turned, bolting in all directions...I had to find him.
I ran around the bend, just east of the car-smoosh-hill (as it was aptly named by my niece in the dream). My skirt flowed behind me, and purple streamers appeared everywhere I ran, floating away in the air. I eventually found Chris Goodwin sitting at the bottom of the bend, with one match.
"We can escape all of this," he said with a grin. I smiled back, my eyes crossing in the tears...was it really him?
I said, "And so we shall!" and he stood, holding me briefly enough to smell the mildew on his collar, and then we ran hand in hand toward the top of the car-smoosh-hill.
Instead of going down though, we turned left going into some woods. The dream changed significantly, and I was suddenly in an old Malibu or Chevelle, dark, brooding blue in color. I turned to look at Chris Goodwin, but we were lost in the mirror images again, and he was not himself but Chris Borchik, and he was about to masturbate. I yelled at him for this, however, because A. he was driving, and B. we were about to drive very slowly past a woman and her two toddlers, and the hell if I wanted him to show them his goods. It wasn't appropriate.
He rolled his eyes at me, and said something unintelligible (I think that his words were spoken backwords). We reached a tower -- it looked like an abandoned lighthouse, actually -- just past the children and their mother, and she scowled, almost hissed at us as we got out of the car, covering her children with her skirts and disappearing into the moist shadows.
Getting out of the car, the mirrors went away and Chris Goodwin was back, and I was relieved. He took out his one match to light a large wooden box on fire, which we would then drag back to camp and make my father proud. But as he lit it, the nasty woman came from behind the building and blew out the flame we had, snickering with her decaying teeth. He became slightly angry with her, but then turned to look at me and smiled. "I have a plan, don't worry. You're father will be proud, and will not deny me my requests thereof." He sounded so certain, so sure, and I didn't know what to think of his meaning when he said, "requests." He then smiled, walked up to me and kissed my cheeks, then my forehead, and then my lips, softly, intensely...I could taste death in his mouth as he ran down the hill, and I ran furiously after him.
"Wait! NO!" I cried. He would look back up at me, laughing and smiling, waving and blowing me kisses. He leaped over cars and slid in the mud on the hill like it was a wave to be surfed. I tried to do what he was doing, but the purple began to stain the hill and my legs, and I became entangled in the colors and dampness, trees swaying above my head, casting the moist shadow on us all.
Chris jumped over one last car...the dark blue Chevelle/ Malibu that Chris Borchik had driven, and landed in a box where he would find yet another match. I jumped over the car, my skirt ripping on its crushed windshield's jutting glass. Chris smiled at me from within his box. I smiled back, blood staining my hands. He bent forward to light the match, but then electricity covered his body, and he was on fire.
"Chris!" I cried. The fire stopped, and only smoke rose. He looked up at me, and I asked if he was OK, but he shivered once, gasping "I'm sorry I let you down," and he fell over, bursting into flames.
I screamed, "No!" and jumped into the box, which I then realized was a casket that hadn't been finished, the wood still yellowish and damp. I used my skirt to put out the flames, its colors now vacant, just dingy grays. I held Chris in my arms, rocking him back and forth madly, sobbing the most painful sobs I can remember ever dreaming.
A little girl walked by, tried to say something to me, but then ran for help. Chris died in my arms.
I woke up to a strange smell, and when I rolled over, I noticed I had thrown one of my pillows on top of my vaporizer. I pulled it off when I realized what had happened, and there was a very hot, damp spot on it.
Now, I drink tea with honey, and my room is not on fire.
I still wonder if Chris G. is alive or dead sometimes, even in waking.
I don't know how I got there or what happened in between (something did, but it apparently wasn't interesting enough for me to remember). I was at Cooper's Lake Campground, home to Pennsic Wars and partying, people dressed in garb, although no one was dressed up at all. In fact, it was more like an Irish festival than a Pennsic War. I jumped out of my dad's van (which was what I drove there...no clue where Fairuza went), noticing the intensely purple velvet skirt I was wearing, and admiring it for quite some time with my right hand. I ran my fingers up and down my legs, still holding fire supplies in my left hand, only it was my right hand because a mirror-image smacked me in the face, and lightning struck somewhere, so I looked up, my eyes colored with the fires all around me, keeping others warm. It was still daylight though, so I had time to make my fire, and I dropped the skirt from my fingers. A large shadow like a breath raced behind me/ beside me/ above me/ through me, and I gasped for a moment. The air was moist where it had been, and I savored its taste in my mouth for a moment before I became frightened and ran to find my father.
When I found him, he was smoking a cigarette, shaking his head irritatedly at the chaos all around. I looked up the hill just in front of our camp and noticed the dozens of cars that had parked there had been smooshed together because of a mudslide, and we had no access to fire-starting because of it. Not enough air, too much moisture in the shadows. I had a strange sense of suffocating then, and he ran by me, tickling my ear as he whispered my name. I turned, bolting in all directions...I had to find him.
I ran around the bend, just east of the car-smoosh-hill (as it was aptly named by my niece in the dream). My skirt flowed behind me, and purple streamers appeared everywhere I ran, floating away in the air. I eventually found Chris Goodwin sitting at the bottom of the bend, with one match.
"We can escape all of this," he said with a grin. I smiled back, my eyes crossing in the tears...was it really him?
I said, "And so we shall!" and he stood, holding me briefly enough to smell the mildew on his collar, and then we ran hand in hand toward the top of the car-smoosh-hill.
Instead of going down though, we turned left going into some woods. The dream changed significantly, and I was suddenly in an old Malibu or Chevelle, dark, brooding blue in color. I turned to look at Chris Goodwin, but we were lost in the mirror images again, and he was not himself but Chris Borchik, and he was about to masturbate. I yelled at him for this, however, because A. he was driving, and B. we were about to drive very slowly past a woman and her two toddlers, and the hell if I wanted him to show them his goods. It wasn't appropriate.
He rolled his eyes at me, and said something unintelligible (I think that his words were spoken backwords). We reached a tower -- it looked like an abandoned lighthouse, actually -- just past the children and their mother, and she scowled, almost hissed at us as we got out of the car, covering her children with her skirts and disappearing into the moist shadows.
Getting out of the car, the mirrors went away and Chris Goodwin was back, and I was relieved. He took out his one match to light a large wooden box on fire, which we would then drag back to camp and make my father proud. But as he lit it, the nasty woman came from behind the building and blew out the flame we had, snickering with her decaying teeth. He became slightly angry with her, but then turned to look at me and smiled. "I have a plan, don't worry. You're father will be proud, and will not deny me my requests thereof." He sounded so certain, so sure, and I didn't know what to think of his meaning when he said, "requests." He then smiled, walked up to me and kissed my cheeks, then my forehead, and then my lips, softly, intensely...I could taste death in his mouth as he ran down the hill, and I ran furiously after him.
"Wait! NO!" I cried. He would look back up at me, laughing and smiling, waving and blowing me kisses. He leaped over cars and slid in the mud on the hill like it was a wave to be surfed. I tried to do what he was doing, but the purple began to stain the hill and my legs, and I became entangled in the colors and dampness, trees swaying above my head, casting the moist shadow on us all.
Chris jumped over one last car...the dark blue Chevelle/ Malibu that Chris Borchik had driven, and landed in a box where he would find yet another match. I jumped over the car, my skirt ripping on its crushed windshield's jutting glass. Chris smiled at me from within his box. I smiled back, blood staining my hands. He bent forward to light the match, but then electricity covered his body, and he was on fire.
"Chris!" I cried. The fire stopped, and only smoke rose. He looked up at me, and I asked if he was OK, but he shivered once, gasping "I'm sorry I let you down," and he fell over, bursting into flames.
I screamed, "No!" and jumped into the box, which I then realized was a casket that hadn't been finished, the wood still yellowish and damp. I used my skirt to put out the flames, its colors now vacant, just dingy grays. I held Chris in my arms, rocking him back and forth madly, sobbing the most painful sobs I can remember ever dreaming.
A little girl walked by, tried to say something to me, but then ran for help. Chris died in my arms.
I woke up to a strange smell, and when I rolled over, I noticed I had thrown one of my pillows on top of my vaporizer. I pulled it off when I realized what had happened, and there was a very hot, damp spot on it.
Now, I drink tea with honey, and my room is not on fire.
I still wonder if Chris G. is alive or dead sometimes, even in waking.
