I'm completely overwhelmed by all the dreams I've had lately. For one thing, I feel like I've only remembered a tiny percentage of fragments; for another, they've been insanely and excessively detailed (noticeably more than usual, which is saying a lot). I guess I'll just start with some snippets in no particular order and see how far I get.
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This morning before work (in real life) I logged in to Yahoo IM in hopes of talking to a friend in a faraway time zone who's been wanting to chat for a while. Then I realized that I was falling asleep, so I turned the volume way up on the computer in hopes of waking up with the little window-opening noise if he tried to chat with me. That's the real-life background.
In the dream, I was sleeping in my house (except that of course it was slightly different, both in the house's characteristics and the location, which was more wooded). In the dream I also had the computer on while I slept (for the same reason), so I was sleeping a bit fitfully. [I find it weird when dreams parallel real life so closely, especially when I dream that I'm asleep.] I ended up waking up to find that my husband had been there, which surprised me since he had already gone to work and is usually way too busy to come back home. He was trying to sleep in a gigantic king-size bed in a different bedroom (our house had morphed again), and said that he had come home the previous morning too.
That was the boring part. I got into bed intending to sleep some more, and woke up to hear strange sounds outside. We got up and looked out the window, and finally figured out that it was a disgruntled former coworker of my husband, shooting randomly with a shotgun (it must have been a pretty wimpy shotgun, because the sounds weren't very loud). We weren't sure what to do, but before we had decided on a course of action I heard noises in the house. He had somehow gotten inside and was waving his gun around, ranting and raving. I went out into the living room, and he shot wildly and missed the side of my head. Obviously something had to be done, so I picked up a greenish marble cutting board (not something we own) and gave him several solid blows to the head. He slumped over a countertop and I hit him several more times, very much in the way you'd crush a cockroach to be sure it was dead (there was no gore, at least). Then I produced a small pistol out of the blue (we don't have a pistol either) and shot him in the temple to be really sure--no gore there, either. The pistol was just as wimpy as his shotgun--no kick, and not much noise. It occurred to me to wonder why I hadn't found a bigger gun, but this one seemed to have done the job.
Of course after that I was stressed about what to do, not to mention extremely disturbed at having just killed someone (in self-defense, but still, the repeated head-bashing was a little much). Fortunately my alarm went off then.
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Another recent dream involved living in a dorm modeled loosely after my high-school dorm (where, thankfully, I didn't actually have to live). The rooms were very small and the hallways were narrow, and it was set up so that people in the hallway could peek through large cracks in western-saloon type doors and see what was going on in the bathrooms. There wasn't much of a plot, just an overwhelming amount of stuff all over--my stuff, other people's stuff, just all kinds of objects crammed into every available space. At one point I took a bath in some random stranger's bathtub, and the bathroom was chock full of all kinds of toiletries and shampoo. After that I visited my sister in her room and spent some time going through her selection of jewelry, which was a lot of ethnic and vintage stuff. I remember a necklace of jet beads carved into the shape of rosebuds, almost like a rosary, and a curious thing from Czechoslovakia: an egg-shaped container of very thin wood with decorative painting. I opened it up to find that it was full of tiny pins out of the same very thin wood, in lots of different shapes (people, geometric shapes, etc.), meant to be combined in different configurations. I was extremely impressed with her collection.
The dorm then changed a little bit, and I was in an upstairs room helping Curly Sue (who actually had to live in the aforementioned high-school dorm!) move to a different facility. It turned out that she had been incarcerated for some not-too-serious offense and was graduating to a lower-security facility. It can't have been anything too serious, because her mother was there helping with the move, and she didn't seem too disturbed about her daughter's crime/incarceration. Also, in conversation with them I remembered that my dad had recently had a similar stint behind bars.
The funny random detail here is that she was wearing several hats (literally, not figuratively). She had layered two or three knit caps of various textures on her head, and she changed these at least once during the dream. The consistent thing was that the hat on top was always just balanced rakishly on top of the others, not pulled down over her head. I found it curious and didn't completely comprehend the reason she offhandedly gave for her distinctive headgear styling, but I let it drop.
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That's just a couple; maybe I'll give it another try later. Stay tuned for not just one but TWO dust-ups in thrift stores; an anthropological exploration of either Afghanistan or Macedonia, depending on which part of the dream you believe; and an outpouring of emotion for an adoptive father (??).
Showing posts with label killing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label killing. Show all posts
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Demon Cat
My psyche totally made up for the last thoroughly uncharacteristic, but lovely and affirming, dream I posted here by waking me up this morning screaming. In the dream, if was a full-throttled anguished wail, but what actually woke me in real life was my own pitiful whimper.
A couple of my best friends were in town for my wedding (what?!)*, and he brought their daughter and cat to my apartment so that I could watch them for a while; I think his wife was sick. Almost immediately, though, this cat (which in real life is lovely) revealed itself to be an absolute demon. It went behind the TV and there was a theatrical flash of light blue light and a powering-down sound that indicated that the cat had chewed through the TV wires. The same thing happened and the computer went down. As I tried to catch and contain the cat, it chomped down hard on my left wrist and latched on. I tried blowing in its face, swatting it, flinging it off, and prying its jaws open, but it held on, and although I knew it was inflicting a pretty serious injury that would hurt a lot, I also didn't want to hurt the cat.
But then, then! It let go, only to dart into a large cage that had appeared on the floor and contained another couple of best friends' kitties. These kitties were somehow much smaller and more fragile, and the demon cat killed them almost instantly.**
This time I picked up the demon cat and sort of flung it to the floor. Even though it was nothing compared to the shaking that completely failed to loosen it when it had its teeth in my wrist, this time it, of course, suddenly died.
It was the realization that I was directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of basically all of my best friends' cats (though thank goodness my subconscious forgot the toddler in my care and thus allowed her to escape unscathed!), and the fear that David wouldn't love me any more after I'd killed all those animals, that woke me up howling. What an awful dream.
*This getting-married-oh-no! themed dream broke with convention, as the potential groom was my current boyfriend, it was a day or two before the wedding, and before my brain could totally freak out over the idea of getting married, it was interrupted by the antics of a demon cat.
**In real life, one of these kitties really is kind of demonic.
A couple of my best friends were in town for my wedding (what?!)*, and he brought their daughter and cat to my apartment so that I could watch them for a while; I think his wife was sick. Almost immediately, though, this cat (which in real life is lovely) revealed itself to be an absolute demon. It went behind the TV and there was a theatrical flash of light blue light and a powering-down sound that indicated that the cat had chewed through the TV wires. The same thing happened and the computer went down. As I tried to catch and contain the cat, it chomped down hard on my left wrist and latched on. I tried blowing in its face, swatting it, flinging it off, and prying its jaws open, but it held on, and although I knew it was inflicting a pretty serious injury that would hurt a lot, I also didn't want to hurt the cat.
But then, then! It let go, only to dart into a large cage that had appeared on the floor and contained another couple of best friends' kitties. These kitties were somehow much smaller and more fragile, and the demon cat killed them almost instantly.**
This time I picked up the demon cat and sort of flung it to the floor. Even though it was nothing compared to the shaking that completely failed to loosen it when it had its teeth in my wrist, this time it, of course, suddenly died.
It was the realization that I was directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of basically all of my best friends' cats (though thank goodness my subconscious forgot the toddler in my care and thus allowed her to escape unscathed!), and the fear that David wouldn't love me any more after I'd killed all those animals, that woke me up howling. What an awful dream.
*This getting-married-oh-no! themed dream broke with convention, as the potential groom was my current boyfriend, it was a day or two before the wedding, and before my brain could totally freak out over the idea of getting married, it was interrupted by the antics of a demon cat.
**In real life, one of these kitties really is kind of demonic.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
mafia!
Last night's dream was the scariest in recent memory. Somehow my husband and I had gotten embroiled in the Mafia. I don't know how it happened, but we had been roped into helping them safeguard a huge amount of money. The money was stuffed in one of those bank envelopes* and put into a safe deposit box in a very fancy little bank, and we had the combination.
There were a lot of complicated details involved in the deal, but it was coming to a close and it was time for them to retrieve their money. I had been supposing that our involvement with them would end at the time they took the money away, but it was slowly dawning on me that we were in a very dangerous situation: we knew what they had done, and it wouldn't be wise of them to leave us around on blind trust that we wouldn't spill it to anyone.
The main three or so guys showed up at our house (a second-story apartment) with wives, children and aged relatives in tow. They were all milling around, the guys with gigantic firearms, and it seemed like the big crowd was a show of force. One of the Big Shots gestured to me and said that his wife was now going to give me instructions on how they were going to retrieve the money. She was a nondescript, skinny, washed-out blond with messy shoulder-length hair** and an air of resignation--like she might once have objected to all this mafia stuff but had become hardened over the years and was now not at all likely to help me get out of the almost-inevitable rubbing-out. She gave me a rundown of the procedures and asked me for the combination for the deposit box. I thought desperately, "Hey! I'll give them a made-up code and then we can go get the money for ourselves and run off with it." Then I realized that 1) the minute I had that thought, I simultaneously forgot the actual code; 2) she probably was asking me as a test--they couldn't possibly have been so stupid as to not take note themselves of the code; 3) my "forgetting" the code was going to look really suspicious. I recited a number that sounded familiar, but I said that I wasn't sure I was remembering it right. To try to look cooperative I said, "What happens if it's not right? You'll still be able to get it from the bank, right? Because I'm sorry, I'm really not sure if I'm remembering it right, and I can't find the paper I wrote it on." She just gave me an inscrutable look, which freaked me out even more.
The wife went off somewhere else, and the three or four Main Men lined up in a line in our dining room. They raised their huge machine guns toward the ceiling, and everyone reacted in a way that indicated that this was a traditional mafia way of celebrating the clenching of a deal. They fired several rounds into the ceiling, which I could see really made my husband mad (up until this, he had been somewhat excited about working with the mafia and impressed with their Coolness, which annoyed me because he was being juvenile and foolish; now I could see him mentally calculating the cost of replacing the drywall).
After that the extended family members started leaving. I saw the wife who had given me the instructions, and her hair had changed from messy, youngish and unintimidating to a frosted, stiff helmet. I thought that didn't bode well for our survival and that it was symbolic of a hardening of her attitude [for some reason I was still hoping that she might be the key, maybe convincing her husband to let us go].
The emptier the house got, the more freaked-out I was, because the main mafiosi were still hanging around in the dining room, glowering and posturing with their guns. There were still some scattered relatives around, and I realized that when they were gone the mafiosi were going to rub us out in a hail of gunfire. I briefly thought about trying to hide in the oven, in case the metal walls would be protective, but that was hardly the solution since they were practically in the kitchen [and for numerous other reasons that didn't occur to my dream incarnation; the only other objection I had to the oven idea was that the bullets would make shrapnel of the metal and the shrapnel would kill me if the bullets didn't].
My husband had disappeared into the bathroom just after the ceiling-strafing ceremony, and I went and knocked on the door. It seemed like he was either in the shower or getting ready to take a shower, and he didn't want to let me in. I persevered and opened the door a crack to see him dancing exuberantly and without a care in the world, in a pair of "eurotrash"-y jeans that he had gotten from the mafia guys, apparently having gotten over his anger about the bullet-riddled ceiling. I was really annoyed, and desperate to communicate the urgency of the situation. I said, "They're going to kill us!"***
He was pretty unimpressed. I tried to go very quickly through the whole scenario so he would see that the only logical outcome was that we were going to die if we didn't leave right now. I knew we didn't have much time, but saw that he was determined to keep dancing in the bathroom and then take a shower. I finally said I was going to try to get away, adding "I'm so scared I want to take a gun". I hoped that would finally alert him to the danger, since he knows I hate guns and wouldn't want to carry one unless it was really necessary. He seemed excited that I was taking an interest in weaponry and said, "Oh, in that case take the pistol. That's the best option for you." [Apparently we had a stash of guns in our freezer.]
I woke up around then, completely freaked out and also feeling guilty that I was going to bail out and leave him there to face an almost certain rubbing-out at the hands of the mafia guys.
*How can it have been that much if it fit in that small envelope? I'm disappointed in your reasoning process, subconscious!
**Interesting detail: all of the mafia women had the same shade of washed-out blond hair.
***Actually, I remember it was a mixture of French and English: "Ils vont nous SHOOT!" I think I was thinking they wouldn't understand French--so why did I say "shoot", the most tipping-off word of the sentence, in English?
[Once again, here I am using all the unsavory labels.]
There were a lot of complicated details involved in the deal, but it was coming to a close and it was time for them to retrieve their money. I had been supposing that our involvement with them would end at the time they took the money away, but it was slowly dawning on me that we were in a very dangerous situation: we knew what they had done, and it wouldn't be wise of them to leave us around on blind trust that we wouldn't spill it to anyone.
The main three or so guys showed up at our house (a second-story apartment) with wives, children and aged relatives in tow. They were all milling around, the guys with gigantic firearms, and it seemed like the big crowd was a show of force. One of the Big Shots gestured to me and said that his wife was now going to give me instructions on how they were going to retrieve the money. She was a nondescript, skinny, washed-out blond with messy shoulder-length hair** and an air of resignation--like she might once have objected to all this mafia stuff but had become hardened over the years and was now not at all likely to help me get out of the almost-inevitable rubbing-out. She gave me a rundown of the procedures and asked me for the combination for the deposit box. I thought desperately, "Hey! I'll give them a made-up code and then we can go get the money for ourselves and run off with it." Then I realized that 1) the minute I had that thought, I simultaneously forgot the actual code; 2) she probably was asking me as a test--they couldn't possibly have been so stupid as to not take note themselves of the code; 3) my "forgetting" the code was going to look really suspicious. I recited a number that sounded familiar, but I said that I wasn't sure I was remembering it right. To try to look cooperative I said, "What happens if it's not right? You'll still be able to get it from the bank, right? Because I'm sorry, I'm really not sure if I'm remembering it right, and I can't find the paper I wrote it on." She just gave me an inscrutable look, which freaked me out even more.
The wife went off somewhere else, and the three or four Main Men lined up in a line in our dining room. They raised their huge machine guns toward the ceiling, and everyone reacted in a way that indicated that this was a traditional mafia way of celebrating the clenching of a deal. They fired several rounds into the ceiling, which I could see really made my husband mad (up until this, he had been somewhat excited about working with the mafia and impressed with their Coolness, which annoyed me because he was being juvenile and foolish; now I could see him mentally calculating the cost of replacing the drywall).
After that the extended family members started leaving. I saw the wife who had given me the instructions, and her hair had changed from messy, youngish and unintimidating to a frosted, stiff helmet. I thought that didn't bode well for our survival and that it was symbolic of a hardening of her attitude [for some reason I was still hoping that she might be the key, maybe convincing her husband to let us go].
The emptier the house got, the more freaked-out I was, because the main mafiosi were still hanging around in the dining room, glowering and posturing with their guns. There were still some scattered relatives around, and I realized that when they were gone the mafiosi were going to rub us out in a hail of gunfire. I briefly thought about trying to hide in the oven, in case the metal walls would be protective, but that was hardly the solution since they were practically in the kitchen [and for numerous other reasons that didn't occur to my dream incarnation; the only other objection I had to the oven idea was that the bullets would make shrapnel of the metal and the shrapnel would kill me if the bullets didn't].
My husband had disappeared into the bathroom just after the ceiling-strafing ceremony, and I went and knocked on the door. It seemed like he was either in the shower or getting ready to take a shower, and he didn't want to let me in. I persevered and opened the door a crack to see him dancing exuberantly and without a care in the world, in a pair of "eurotrash"-y jeans that he had gotten from the mafia guys, apparently having gotten over his anger about the bullet-riddled ceiling. I was really annoyed, and desperate to communicate the urgency of the situation. I said, "They're going to kill us!"***
He was pretty unimpressed. I tried to go very quickly through the whole scenario so he would see that the only logical outcome was that we were going to die if we didn't leave right now. I knew we didn't have much time, but saw that he was determined to keep dancing in the bathroom and then take a shower. I finally said I was going to try to get away, adding "I'm so scared I want to take a gun". I hoped that would finally alert him to the danger, since he knows I hate guns and wouldn't want to carry one unless it was really necessary. He seemed excited that I was taking an interest in weaponry and said, "Oh, in that case take the pistol. That's the best option for you." [Apparently we had a stash of guns in our freezer.]
I woke up around then, completely freaked out and also feeling guilty that I was going to bail out and leave him there to face an almost certain rubbing-out at the hands of the mafia guys.
*How can it have been that much if it fit in that small envelope? I'm disappointed in your reasoning process, subconscious!
**Interesting detail: all of the mafia women had the same shade of washed-out blond hair.
***Actually, I remember it was a mixture of French and English: "Ils vont nous SHOOT!" I think I was thinking they wouldn't understand French--so why did I say "shoot", the most tipping-off word of the sentence, in English?
[Once again, here I am using all the unsavory labels.]
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Coyote
This dream has really disturbed me. I still feel out of sorts.
I dreamed that I was walking home in a pair of cheap pink flip-flops (I own these as pool shower shoes). I was walking through the woods and was annoyed with myself for wearing flip-flops because they were already hurting my feet and there was still a long way to go.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed a gray coyote walking on my left side. It startled me, but I wasn't scared because they're usually so skittish. I walked a bit more, then turned suddenly and made a loud noise, clapping my hands and shouting so as to scare him off. He flinched, but didn't run away. He just kept walking on my left, about 10 feet away.
I tried to ignore him, but he kept getting closer and closer. I wasn't sure if he had malicious intentions, or if he just wanted to play. Whenever I would look over at him, he would kind of grin by opening his mouth a bit. I couldn't tell if it was evil or not.
Finally, I thought I'd try to get him to chase a stick and while he was away, I'd figure out a way to escape (by this point, I definitely wanted to get away). I broke a stick off a log lying on the ground. I kind of showed it to him and then threw it as hard as I could. The coyote watched it fly away, but he didn't chase it. He just watched it fall. While he was watching it fall, I bent down and picked up another stick, one with a big knobby lump on the end. I carried it by my right side, parallel to my leg so he couldn't really see it.
By this point, everything was very weird and disturbing. The coyote was standing on his back legs, walking upright. I realized that I had to pretend that everything was good and fun, so I was laughing and grinning at him. We ended up holding hands and skipping along together, laughing, while I desperately tried to plan how to get away.
Finally, I decided that he couldn't come to my house. I knew he was plotting something scary and I couldn't get him to go away. I decided to hit him with the knobby stick and knock him unconscious. I took a big swing, but just as I did, he turned his head to look at something and I missed. I was so scared that he would notice that I had tried to hurt him. I was still pretending that I was happily skipping along with him.
Finally, I tried again, using our clasped hands as a pivot point to get more force. This time I hit him on the front of the head. I realized, though, that my stick wasn't heavy enough to knock him out for long, so I kept beating at his head until I knew he was dead.
I dreamed that I was walking home in a pair of cheap pink flip-flops (I own these as pool shower shoes). I was walking through the woods and was annoyed with myself for wearing flip-flops because they were already hurting my feet and there was still a long way to go.
In my peripheral vision, I noticed a gray coyote walking on my left side. It startled me, but I wasn't scared because they're usually so skittish. I walked a bit more, then turned suddenly and made a loud noise, clapping my hands and shouting so as to scare him off. He flinched, but didn't run away. He just kept walking on my left, about 10 feet away.
I tried to ignore him, but he kept getting closer and closer. I wasn't sure if he had malicious intentions, or if he just wanted to play. Whenever I would look over at him, he would kind of grin by opening his mouth a bit. I couldn't tell if it was evil or not.
Finally, I thought I'd try to get him to chase a stick and while he was away, I'd figure out a way to escape (by this point, I definitely wanted to get away). I broke a stick off a log lying on the ground. I kind of showed it to him and then threw it as hard as I could. The coyote watched it fly away, but he didn't chase it. He just watched it fall. While he was watching it fall, I bent down and picked up another stick, one with a big knobby lump on the end. I carried it by my right side, parallel to my leg so he couldn't really see it.
By this point, everything was very weird and disturbing. The coyote was standing on his back legs, walking upright. I realized that I had to pretend that everything was good and fun, so I was laughing and grinning at him. We ended up holding hands and skipping along together, laughing, while I desperately tried to plan how to get away.
Finally, I decided that he couldn't come to my house. I knew he was plotting something scary and I couldn't get him to go away. I decided to hit him with the knobby stick and knock him unconscious. I took a big swing, but just as I did, he turned his head to look at something and I missed. I was so scared that he would notice that I had tried to hurt him. I was still pretending that I was happily skipping along with him.
Finally, I tried again, using our clasped hands as a pivot point to get more force. This time I hit him on the front of the head. I realized, though, that my stick wasn't heavy enough to knock him out for long, so I kept beating at his head until I knew he was dead.
Friday, June 19, 2009
canophagy?!
I can't take credit for this dream, but I found it dramatic and horrible enough to want to document. My husband dreamed that my parents were visiting and we were going to eat one of our dogs (the sweet, well-behaved one)! He had to kill her so she could be eaten, which he did by shooting the back of her head. I asked him if we actually ended up eating her, and he said he didn't know, because after that he had to go off and cry [he said he also wondered afterward, still in the dream, why we hadn't decided to eat the misbehaving dog instead]. What a terrible dream, especially for someone who hardly ever remembers his dreams!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Transfiguring Monster
I had a scary monster dream last night. But I was also aware, through the dream, that it was a monster from a movie, so I knew how to kill it, I just had to get it in the same position and go through the same motions. I kept thinking it was the cloverfield monster.
But upon waking, I realized it was not the Cloverfield monster because this monster could change between scary monster with crazy long killing tail and normal human man (and also upon waking I realized it looked nothing like the cloverfield monster....). He was extra scary because he could blend in with a crowd and then suddenly change, so we were always on the lookout for this one man, and I got very good at spotting him. I never actually saw him transform, but knew it was the same.
There was also something dinosaur-like about the monster because we knew that if we were right in front of him, but still he couldn't kill us. So we were running around a high school (in the gym there was a tree house in the middle of the floor, which we had somehow built and weren't letting anyone else into, until they pulled it down when the man walked into the room) and outside of the high school (where I saw him kill a bunch of men sitting on chairs in what looked like a Mexican Alley) and then my grandma's attic where I was trying to stuff myself into a trunk to hide. He killed a woman laying on bed, in the school, and for some reason that was why I was convinced that it was Cloverfield, because I had seen it before, but it really wasn't Cloverfield, so maybe I've had this dream before? Or maybe it's another movie I can't remember very well?
Anyway, it alternated between terrifying and completely not because I knew he was killable. I even saw the big red button on the wall that I knew I was supposed to push because that happened last time, but the people around me convinced me it wasn't time yet, and I was a little bit happy about that because I wasn't ready for it to end, and then finally I saw the woman who killed him in the previous dream/movie, so I knew that she would take care of it.
And then I woke up.
But upon waking, I realized it was not the Cloverfield monster because this monster could change between scary monster with crazy long killing tail and normal human man (and also upon waking I realized it looked nothing like the cloverfield monster....). He was extra scary because he could blend in with a crowd and then suddenly change, so we were always on the lookout for this one man, and I got very good at spotting him. I never actually saw him transform, but knew it was the same.
There was also something dinosaur-like about the monster because we knew that if we were right in front of him, but still he couldn't kill us. So we were running around a high school (in the gym there was a tree house in the middle of the floor, which we had somehow built and weren't letting anyone else into, until they pulled it down when the man walked into the room) and outside of the high school (where I saw him kill a bunch of men sitting on chairs in what looked like a Mexican Alley) and then my grandma's attic where I was trying to stuff myself into a trunk to hide. He killed a woman laying on bed, in the school, and for some reason that was why I was convinced that it was Cloverfield, because I had seen it before, but it really wasn't Cloverfield, so maybe I've had this dream before? Or maybe it's another movie I can't remember very well?
Anyway, it alternated between terrifying and completely not because I knew he was killable. I even saw the big red button on the wall that I knew I was supposed to push because that happened last time, but the people around me convinced me it wasn't time yet, and I was a little bit happy about that because I wasn't ready for it to end, and then finally I saw the woman who killed him in the previous dream/movie, so I knew that she would take care of it.
And then I woke up.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
don't kill the tiger
i was at some sort of a fair, accompanied by a large group of people from various corners of my life (work, friends, family, etc). we were walking through a an exhibit in a trailer where there were a ton of sheep giving birth all at the same time (i'm pretty sure this part of the dream was influenced by a conversation i had with ceri about a fair in mn).
as i was walking through the exhibit trailer, a saber-toothed tiger appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm and pulled me outside. it was biting down hard to where it was piercing my skin, but not hard enough to actually rip my arm off. as he was biting down, we were looking at each other straight in the eyes. a crowd gathered around me and a lady had a large knife and was ready to jump in to save me.
i pleaded with the crowd and the knife lady to keep back. i wanted to try to get away so that the tiger wouldn't have to be killed. i felt this weird connection with the tiger as we looked into each other's eyes. somehow i just knew that the tiger and i loved each other (almost like the tiger was my pet) and that he didn't want to hurt me, he was just doing what nature makes tigers do.
i was nervous, halfway wanting someone to save me but knowing that by saving me they would have to kill him. the tiger and i stood there for awhile, my arm in his teeth, looking at each other. finally he made a quick move and bit down harder which made the knife lady lunge into action and stab him in the neck, killing him.
and i sobbed and sobbed. it broke my heart that the tiger was dead.
it was a very emotional dream all around. it felt so real that i instinctively checked my arm for teeth marks when i woke up.
as i was walking through the exhibit trailer, a saber-toothed tiger appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm and pulled me outside. it was biting down hard to where it was piercing my skin, but not hard enough to actually rip my arm off. as he was biting down, we were looking at each other straight in the eyes. a crowd gathered around me and a lady had a large knife and was ready to jump in to save me.
i pleaded with the crowd and the knife lady to keep back. i wanted to try to get away so that the tiger wouldn't have to be killed. i felt this weird connection with the tiger as we looked into each other's eyes. somehow i just knew that the tiger and i loved each other (almost like the tiger was my pet) and that he didn't want to hurt me, he was just doing what nature makes tigers do.
i was nervous, halfway wanting someone to save me but knowing that by saving me they would have to kill him. the tiger and i stood there for awhile, my arm in his teeth, looking at each other. finally he made a quick move and bit down harder which made the knife lady lunge into action and stab him in the neck, killing him.
and i sobbed and sobbed. it broke my heart that the tiger was dead.
it was a very emotional dream all around. it felt so real that i instinctively checked my arm for teeth marks when i woke up.
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