In the dream, someone was trying to kill me, but at first I thought they were trying to kill other people. In big, dramatic ways. Explosions. Mass gunfire. Cars driving into crowds.
In trying to figure out who was creating the mayhem, because to me it seemed like calculated mayhem, I started to believe that a particular person was the target. Then that person died in one of the explosions, and the incidents kept happening. Fires. Building implosions. Helicopters with rocket launchers.
Someone recently said I have a flair for the dramatic. In my dreams I definitely do.
At a certain point, I figured out that they were trying to get me. In running through a burning building looking for a place to hide, I ended up in Stewart’s apartment. Never mind that he lives in a house. Never mind that there was no reason he would still be inside a burning building instead of running away like everyone else. Never mind that it would be more logical to get out of the burning building myself. Never mind that when I opened the door I had no idea he was inside. It was a dream.
Dream logic is a whole separate thing. Sort of like my own logic.
Stewart said I could hide at his place, even though I thought it might put him at risk. He also helped me figure out that the person I thought was helping me was the one who was after me.
It never occurred to me to wonder why it was so important for someone to hurt me that they were willing to kill dozens or hundreds of other people while they were trying.
It often occurs to me why anyone would want to hurt anyone on purpose.
I fell asleep on Stewart’s bed. I woke up during the night and he was awake, arms around me, watching the door, stroking my hair.
I felt safe. Calm.
In the morning, we talked about what to do, and in talking it over again, we realized that we’d been wrong the night before. There was a nurse I used to work with who was on a rampage. Then there was a knock on the wall, which was like a garage door. Someone forced it open a crack and threw in some sort of incendiary device. We crawled under the mattress, and were safe when it exploded.
Well, I think we were. The explosion woke me up.
I suppose it’s possible that I am actually dead. I am probably not going to continue the blog after I’m dead though.
It was comforting to know that someone was protecting me in my sleep…
It’s funny how small a gesture it takes comfort someone, and how often people choose to hurt them instead.