A Dream Diary #10 - November 2022
I’m wandering around country roads, looking for something. I find an old wooden box on a post and, opening it up, discover a short, blunt sword inside. I’m surprised – I thought I had left my coat in there – but take the sword anyway. It could be useful.
I enter a building that seems abandoned. Some kind of sawmill, but with long modern corridors, as if part of it has been modified for another use - an information centre, perhaps? As I walk around, two hooded, black-clothed people attack me. I try to fight them off with my hands, then remember the sword and draw it. The attackers run off, around the corner of the corridor. I let them go – I am in no mood to chase them down – and continue my search through the building. In a spacious alcove, there is a pile of boxes full of belongings. I think they might be mine, but I’m not sure, so rifle through them. Their contents are all familiar, like things I might have owned in the past but have now forgotten.
Outside again, I continue to roam the roads. I find a woman on a bench – she is also familiar, and seems to know me. I greet her, then sit down beside her. She seems uncomfortable at first, but as we talk seems to settle and swings her legs over to rest on my own. I tell her I have lost something. I think it might be my coat. She hasn’t seen it, but says she will keep an eye out for it. I get up and continue walking.
Further down the road, another woman runs up to me. She is taller than me, and when she says hello I recognise her – someone I went to college with. She holds up a bundle of cloth in her hand for me to take. It’s my coat. I’m very grateful and stand on tiptoe to give her a kiss.
Something feels wrong.
In a newsagents/print house where I recently started working. A co-worker has been killed, but no clues have been found. I know how it happened – I was there, alone with them at the time. It was an accident. We had an argument, and I pushed them. They fell and hit their head. I haven’t told anyone, as I thought they would blame me. Now everyone has stopped working to investigate. They’re going over every inch of the store, checking for any incriminating evidence, studying every inch of documents and items for sale for fingerprints or other clues. One finds a twisted piece of plastic that was found near the corpse. It matches an imprint on my arm. I know they think I did it, they all keep implying it with everything they say and do, but I still can’t bring myself to tell them what really happened.
Taking part in a sword fight outside in the middle of nowhere. All contestants are dressed in red musketeer outfits. There are two teams, evenly matched. Something is wrong – the action feels staged, but the infjuries real enough, and surely fatal. I parry and dodge, trying not to hurt anyone. Soon there are three of us left, one of my teammates and myself against a tall and bulky opponent wielding two epees. The other two circle each other while I keep my distance, looking for an in. The brute steps surprisingly swiftly around, pulls my comrade close and drives both foils through his stomach. I step in, searching out a weak spot in his defence. His guard is low. I raise my sword to his face. He seems to lower his guard further, offering out his nose. I jerk the tip of the tip of my flat weapon into one of his nostrils. He seems to push his face further onto it. There is a sickening crunch, and he falls dead. I’m relieved it is over, but feel nauseous and confused at the nature of my victory.
A smell of wood, ancient and damp. Close and constricting. The nausea swells.