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Plane crash, parachutes and paper planes

Rating
Cohesion
Wednesday, March 8 2017 Views: 116

 

1. London, sunny early autumn day. The Millennium Bridge is lengthways in Thames and I am taking a stroll along it with my fiancé – an unfamiliar bodybuilder in a bowler hat. He doesn’t have a shirt on and I give him a hug to keep him warm, although he says he’s not cold. I joke that with him dressing like that we’d have to have a circus themed wedding. I don’t like how he looks in the dream, but I recognise and feel intense love towards his personality; it’s almost like my beloved is occupying the body of another person.

 

(I woke up for a few minutes between these two dreams, but I have a feeling that they’re connected)

 

2. I’m helping my babysitter Rachel with her new baby that in the dream she had named Riley. She is bringing groceries to the baby’s father who lives in an underground house with a trapdoor and a ladder that I can barely get in. He is a short grumpy man who criticises everything that Rachel does. I have to bow down quite a bit as the ceiling is so low. We get out through the trapdoor and there’s police near Rachel’s car. They tell us that we can’t park there and point to where we can access the normal entrance as the house has been built into the hillside and we had been accessing it from above, instead from the front.

Rachel leaves me standing in the parking lot on the hill and drives away. I look around – there are some cars in the lot and some semi-detached houses around it; on the other side is a park. A plane in the sky catches my eye as it is quite low and is behaving erratically. It starts disintegrating in the sky right above me, but I stand there among the first pieces of falling debris to see what happens, actually thinking that this is a pre-cognitive dream and that I have to remember it.

A woman comes out of one of the houses and picks up a silvery piece of fuselage and examines it with curiosity, ignoring the falling debris around us. I shout at her to get back inside, which startles her; she drops the piece and disappears into the house. The debris hail is getting heavier and I run towards the houses weaving my way among the cars that are being relentlessly pummelled by falling pieces of metal. The plane falls into the park and explodes, but I only see that with side vision as I’m focused on getting to the closest house and hiding under the roof overhang.

I get to it and hide. There is a clothes line under the overhang and a pink bra is right in front of my face, therefore I can’t see much of what’s going on. I cannot remove it either as my hands are shaking violently. I observe it with curiosity and detachment, like “Yep, that’s high levels of adrenaline in my blood, might take a while to settle”; I recognise it as a symptom of fear, but do not feel the fear itself, the only emotion being fierce compassion for the plane passengers.

It’s getting quieter outside and I peek out from beneath the overhang – the park is burning, but the sky is full of silvery parachutes and I feel relieved knowing that they survived. Suddenly I see a cloud of small objects approaching me and close my eyes in fear that it’s more debris. Instead I see myself from aside being struck by a cloud of pink paper planes. Most of them bump into me and fall to the ground, but some six or seven stay stuck in my hair.

 

Later me and the woman from the house are going to be interrogated by authorities. I meet my fiancé from the first dream on the way; I recognise him although he looks like a handsome black man this time. I give him a hasty kiss, saying that I must go.

We’re taken to a man in charge who wants to know everything we saw and then will erase our memories. I sit in his dimly lit office and look for something I can record my pre-cognitive dream with. There are many flat rectangular metal boxes containing black charcoal powder on his desk and I try writing with my finger in it, but my hands are still shaking, so I shake the box to even out the powder and try again. The man notices something suspicious and takes the box out of my hands, but he has trouble reading the negative spaces and gives it back to me as a fiddle toy to calm my nerves. In the end, he decides not to mess with our memories and instead holds a press conference. Jennifer Tilly is there as a reporter and asks about a book deal in a squeaky voice.




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