This Is Me
2011-04-25 08:03:29 (UTC)

I Have Terrible Vivid Dreams.

In my dream, last night, I was hired to make this lion-tiger thing out of clay and faux fur, and I airbrushed the colour into it, and it was sick. But when it was on display, something was weird about it. It was laying down and I didn’t remember making it in that position. But I went into my room (which was magically in the gallery) and heard screaming, so I grabbed a pair of my scissors and a bat and ran out there, and my clay creation was killing everyone there. I tried to hit it, but couldn’t move. It was like the clay creature stole my mobility. Then police showed up and it look, like, 12 of them to kill it and only 3 of them actually survived. And I saw your body and cried hysterically. This was my fault. I made it, and now it killed you. I did this.
And I was suddenly back at the exhibit, staring at the creature, trying to understand why it looked so strange. And I knew, this time. I had a Final Destination moment or something, but I knew what was going to happen. And though there were hundreds of people in there, my priority was getting you out. So I found you and tried telling you what was going to happen, and was crying while telling you, and you wouldn’t listen. You hated me for some reason, and left me, and I tried pulling you out, but you yelled at me instead and I was shocked. Immobilized again, but momentarily this time. I had to save you.
So I went back into my room and got my bat, again, and stabbed several pairs of scissors through it, and I heard the screaming again. I went for the door handle and it fell off. There was no way to open it. I kicked the door and it wouldn’t budge. I heard screaming and sirens. I was probably too late, but I hit the door with my bat-scissor weapon and crashed it down. I looked down my hall, and I saw dead bodies and blood and my lifeless tiger-lion. And you. Dead.
I started having an asthma attack from the anxiety and fear and stress, but I couldn’t find my inhaler. And I searched for it in my room but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. I was dying and you were dead and I didn’t care anymore, because I failed. And I woke up in my bed, no covers, pillow across the room, having a legit asthma attack.
And then I texted you to make sure you were still alive. Thank you for being a fast texter.