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thedarksiren2two or three nights past...I don't recognize time much today.
I was nude, hiding inside a rock, similarly to the way a fish does in the sea. The rock was cavernous, reminding me of coral, but black, damp, without light. My father was there was well, and although I could not see him, I knew he was.
I said something about it being safe to come out. He said I could not. I looked back at him, over my dirty, scraped-up right shoulder. His eyes glowed yellow with red slivers of bloodshot violence. I began to scramble out through a hole, but as my hand grasped at the rock surface, it became tar, and my hands began to melt in the goo, mixing peach-flesh with black fire. I screamed and my legs pushed upward just before my father reached for my spine, missing me except for a large scratch, caused by his large talons.
He was a demon in the dream, if not the Devil.
I ran and ran, covering my body as best as I could with my melty-hands. I was crying, filthy, very young and emaciated. Down an alleyway I found a large dumpster with clothing in it. I climbed in and began to get dressed in large, baggy clothes. As I put my head through the shirt, something changed. Climbing out, I stepped onto the slick, sterile-white floor of a recovery ward, realizing that I was climbing out of a very large biohazardous waste basket, filled to the brim with old, used needles. As I climbed out, however, the needles did not prick me, but some were stuck to my shirt and pantlegs. I brushed them off, half expecting to stick my fingers, but they just fell to the ground with a *clink!*
Somehow, not sure of the order of this particular scenario, but I wound up in a large parking lot, freshly poured and still stinky from it. It was night out, had been dark the entire dream, although when I was climbing out of the rock initially, it was just after dusk. The yellow lines were bright and annoying to my eyes, but there was a church across the lot, and some bushes that interested me. I walked over to them, climbing over the middle and hiding in them for a moment, looking through the branches at the empty street I'd left behind, everything vacant and cold. I was nervous, but saw no one, so I climbed out of them, making certain my clothes covered up the burns and scars all over my body.
Back on the recovery ward, nurses and doctors were dressed in isolation gear, pastel yellows and lime greens. I wanted to hear the beeps and machines breathing for people, but all I heard was the shuffling of isolation booties, mine included. They were the pastel yellow ones, and I think my shoes were white.
I heard a familiar voice, and walked to a room, peeking my head around a doorway. My father was in the hospital, an oxygen tube up his nose, my mother and younger sister Deb by his side. I could hear Leah somewhere, but did not see her.
My mother wished for me to be there. My father said I hadn't talked to him in months, and Deb said that I'd been "spotted" in the church lot recently. Mom said she wished I wasn't so distant, and I suspected she and Deb had no idea that Dad was the devil I'd experienced. I turned quickly to leave, turned to my right and down the hallway. I think I ran down stairs, found a door and all but fell on my face as I went to go out of it. The door was about four feet from the ground, without steps. I managed to hang on to the handle for a moment as I fell, and jumped to the ground, realizing that what was a hospital a moment before was now the warehouse I often find myself inside in my dreams. The door closed behind/ above me, leaving no handle to return inside again. I turned to face the street, and noticed the freshly-poured smell of the lot across the street, along with the church.
I took a step into the street, and what had once been a silent and deserted road was now filled with lights and ghostly cars roaring past and through me. I moved like I was in the Atari game, Frogger, but realized quickly that they could not harm me. Still, I moved quickly.
Once I stood on the sidewalk facing the church, I took a look back at the warehouse; no windows, the door inaccessible. The cars had disappeared the moment I took step on the sidewalk. I looked down to see that the booties were still on. I looked up...the smell of the lot was burning my nostrils, and then I realized...it was hot and bubbling. I knew if I kept the booties on I would be safe. I think I became more aware of this being a dream then, and thought, "It's not real, so it won't hurt me." I took the nasty yellow booties off, leaving my feet bare (I don't know where the shoes went), and stepped onto the liquid surface.
It burned horribly at first, and I began to cry. The image of my toes melting into the black and yellow bubbles below is still fresh in my mind, as is the smell of melting flesh. I endured, nonetheless, and walked as fast as I could to the church walkway, toward the bushes.
When I reached the bushes, I turned to my right to get into the church instead. I could see candles flickering inside, and knew I would find sanctuary, although a part of me feared being abused regardless, much like the hunchback of Notre Dame (interpretive, with accordance to dreams~;P). I turned the corner of the walkway, a left turn, up stair after stair...the doors were large and wooden, the handles giant wrought-iron swirls in my youthful hands. I pulled both doors open, a large screeching noise followed.
I walked inside, the doors closed behind me. Looking around, the altar was golden and shimmering, candles lit everywhere. I leaned against the old wooden doors, began to sob, my back sliding down slowly until I sat trembling, my back bleeding with splinters, against the entrance.
***
For the record, my father and I have a very good relationship. My parents are both amazing and beautiful people, so I have no fucking idea what the deal is with all the demons and Christian symbolism. I would really, really like some opinions on this. Thanks.
I was nude, hiding inside a rock, similarly to the way a fish does in the sea. The rock was cavernous, reminding me of coral, but black, damp, without light. My father was there was well, and although I could not see him, I knew he was.
I said something about it being safe to come out. He said I could not. I looked back at him, over my dirty, scraped-up right shoulder. His eyes glowed yellow with red slivers of bloodshot violence. I began to scramble out through a hole, but as my hand grasped at the rock surface, it became tar, and my hands began to melt in the goo, mixing peach-flesh with black fire. I screamed and my legs pushed upward just before my father reached for my spine, missing me except for a large scratch, caused by his large talons.
He was a demon in the dream, if not the Devil.
I ran and ran, covering my body as best as I could with my melty-hands. I was crying, filthy, very young and emaciated. Down an alleyway I found a large dumpster with clothing in it. I climbed in and began to get dressed in large, baggy clothes. As I put my head through the shirt, something changed. Climbing out, I stepped onto the slick, sterile-white floor of a recovery ward, realizing that I was climbing out of a very large biohazardous waste basket, filled to the brim with old, used needles. As I climbed out, however, the needles did not prick me, but some were stuck to my shirt and pantlegs. I brushed them off, half expecting to stick my fingers, but they just fell to the ground with a *clink!*
Somehow, not sure of the order of this particular scenario, but I wound up in a large parking lot, freshly poured and still stinky from it. It was night out, had been dark the entire dream, although when I was climbing out of the rock initially, it was just after dusk. The yellow lines were bright and annoying to my eyes, but there was a church across the lot, and some bushes that interested me. I walked over to them, climbing over the middle and hiding in them for a moment, looking through the branches at the empty street I'd left behind, everything vacant and cold. I was nervous, but saw no one, so I climbed out of them, making certain my clothes covered up the burns and scars all over my body.
Back on the recovery ward, nurses and doctors were dressed in isolation gear, pastel yellows and lime greens. I wanted to hear the beeps and machines breathing for people, but all I heard was the shuffling of isolation booties, mine included. They were the pastel yellow ones, and I think my shoes were white.
I heard a familiar voice, and walked to a room, peeking my head around a doorway. My father was in the hospital, an oxygen tube up his nose, my mother and younger sister Deb by his side. I could hear Leah somewhere, but did not see her.
My mother wished for me to be there. My father said I hadn't talked to him in months, and Deb said that I'd been "spotted" in the church lot recently. Mom said she wished I wasn't so distant, and I suspected she and Deb had no idea that Dad was the devil I'd experienced. I turned quickly to leave, turned to my right and down the hallway. I think I ran down stairs, found a door and all but fell on my face as I went to go out of it. The door was about four feet from the ground, without steps. I managed to hang on to the handle for a moment as I fell, and jumped to the ground, realizing that what was a hospital a moment before was now the warehouse I often find myself inside in my dreams. The door closed behind/ above me, leaving no handle to return inside again. I turned to face the street, and noticed the freshly-poured smell of the lot across the street, along with the church.
I took a step into the street, and what had once been a silent and deserted road was now filled with lights and ghostly cars roaring past and through me. I moved like I was in the Atari game, Frogger, but realized quickly that they could not harm me. Still, I moved quickly.
Once I stood on the sidewalk facing the church, I took a look back at the warehouse; no windows, the door inaccessible. The cars had disappeared the moment I took step on the sidewalk. I looked down to see that the booties were still on. I looked up...the smell of the lot was burning my nostrils, and then I realized...it was hot and bubbling. I knew if I kept the booties on I would be safe. I think I became more aware of this being a dream then, and thought, "It's not real, so it won't hurt me." I took the nasty yellow booties off, leaving my feet bare (I don't know where the shoes went), and stepped onto the liquid surface.
It burned horribly at first, and I began to cry. The image of my toes melting into the black and yellow bubbles below is still fresh in my mind, as is the smell of melting flesh. I endured, nonetheless, and walked as fast as I could to the church walkway, toward the bushes.
When I reached the bushes, I turned to my right to get into the church instead. I could see candles flickering inside, and knew I would find sanctuary, although a part of me feared being abused regardless, much like the hunchback of Notre Dame (interpretive, with accordance to dreams~;P). I turned the corner of the walkway, a left turn, up stair after stair...the doors were large and wooden, the handles giant wrought-iron swirls in my youthful hands. I pulled both doors open, a large screeching noise followed.
I walked inside, the doors closed behind me. Looking around, the altar was golden and shimmering, candles lit everywhere. I leaned against the old wooden doors, began to sob, my back sliding down slowly until I sat trembling, my back bleeding with splinters, against the entrance.
***
For the record, my father and I have a very good relationship. My parents are both amazing and beautiful people, so I have no fucking idea what the deal is with all the demons and Christian symbolism. I would really, really like some opinions on this. Thanks.
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no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 11:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 04:25 pm (UTC)Overall, I've always had a general fear of separation from anyone whom I love and hold dearly. Yay childhood drama.
As for the Christian shtuff, I live in Cleveland, so I am surrounded by Catholics, nevermind the fact that I live, quite literally, in the middle of four different churches in Tremont. Not that I am bothered by any of the above...overall, the people whom I discuss religion with are few and far between, and the ones I do are open-minded and not pushy about their choices.
Overall, however, other than seeing The Passion... a few weeks ago, I haven't had any blatant Christian anything around for quite some time.
no subject
Date: 2004-03-23 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-26 11:53 am (UTC)I truly apprecciate the offer.~8)
Just so you know, most of my dreams, although disturbing in content, are not scary to me. Very few actually bother me, I just like getting other people's perspectives, particularly when the dreams deal with themes I am not very educated or whatever in.