Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I was at a party and having a good time. Two women were trying to seduce me. Both were my age, and brunettes. One was tall and in a red satin blouse while the shorter one wore a forest green shirt. I was an eager participant. But every time that I was alone with one, an interruption would stamp stop. Once, one of the women became sick and vomited. Hah!
Meanwile, I then went out and off to a place being rented by me and others. The others had children and the children were making a mess. We were due to check out in a few hours. Walking around, I was horrified to discover the children had put food everywhere and seemed to have damaged some furniture. I went back to inform their parents, but they were having a good time and ignored me. After failing to get anyone’s attention, I attempted to dismiss it. Going to a recliner, I settled back. Two of my cats showed me, one on either side, which made me happy. The third cat showed up, wandering around the chair, sniffing. One cat jumped down and started going after the other one. The two cats went running around. I called to them to stop, then went to find them when they disappeared.
Other cats appeared. Two were black and white like the cat of mine who chased the other. Each was walking upright on their rear legs. One had a mop of pink hair on its head. The other had yellow hair. I thought each was my cat, Tucker, but realized it wasn’t. Then Tucker came out, walking upright like them, with a mop of light blue hair crowning his head. I tried telling other people to look at these cats but no one did.
A child had locked something up. A really tiny key was needed. I had one but it broke so I went to a counter where a man offered me a similar key. To get it, though, I needed to subscribe to getting a key a month. I didn’t need a key a month so I wasn’t willing to sign up. Looking for something to work as a key, I found some small toy and broke a piece off. That worked.
The dream was odd. It was about me and two balls. Ahem. These were small hard-rubber balls. They easily fit in the palm of my hand. I’d been traveling with friends. The friends included a person I worked with about fifteen years ago — a female who I’ll call S — along with a male that I didn’t know, who was white and my age, and another female not known to me, but a friend in my dream. The male and I were throwing the ball as we chatted. First, we seemed to be in a mall but moved on to a gathering that was by a beach. As we went, we encountered other people, talking with them.
I also discovered a special affinity with the balls. Although dull red and normal in appearance, I discovered that I could hurl them with great power and accuracy. I first found this on my own, then decided to explore it with my male friend. This happened first in the mall area. He was about fifty feet away. I thought, I can really put some speed on this. Worried about him not being able to catch it, I refrained from throwing it too hard. After visualizing a six-inch square target in my mind, I threw it with impressive velocity. It landed right where I wanted but he had trouble managing to bring it in.
S joked with me about the balls. Out on the beach, I explained to the male friend that the ball was energized; I fed off its energy and it fed off mine. It was a matter of being in the moment. I thought that anyone could do it. He asked for a demonstration of what I meant. I sent him out into the water because I didn’t think he could catch it and I didn’t want it hurting anyone. When he was about a hundred yards out, with waves splashing over his knees, I whipped the ball at him. It shot out above the water with a little rooster tail. He flinched and missed it. The ball skipped into the water.
But I had a second one in my hand. Using the second ball, I called the first ball back to me. My throwing prowess catch the attention of the crowd. They clamored to see more. I discovered by trying that I could throw the ball in a high, long arc that would bring it back to me, and that I could catch it. After I demonstrated this, others gathered, including male and female children. I kept telling them that they could do it, too, and then would throw it to show them. They would try to repeat what I was doing but kept falling short. Some tried catching the returning ball when I sent it off in a long arc, but it would usually come in too fast for them. Even when they missed, I could put out a hand and have the ball return to me, even after it rolled to a stop on the ground.
S said, “You’re pretty good with those. I think that’s something special.” I thanked her with a laugh. That’s where the dream ended.
I went to a bank, a modern building, small, almost empty. While there, I heard rumors of something else being behind the bank. I decided to investigate. After following a hallway briefly, I entered a large chamber. All of it was a very light gray stone, stone the color of pale, thin fog. The chamber is broad and tall, with an uneven but flat floor. Centerpiece to it is a giant square head carved from the rock. Trying to take it in has me craning my head back and shifting position. Three columns are hewn into the rock on either side of it. A sense of time thousands of years past washes out from it.
I’m turning toward the right. I can see that the broad chamber continues that way. I’ve decided to follow it but as I’m walking, I grow away that the chamber reverberates. I stop to feel it. It’s not a heartbeat. At once softer and more powerful, it flows through the rock and me. Feeling it, I become lifted by a glorious spiritual mood. The chamber grows brighter and whiter.
Next, I’m walking on a paved path through countryside. I’m among many people. My wife is with me, along with families with children. A large percentage of the children are riding little carts that they stood up in and propel along with their foot. Everyone is laughing and merry. We’re on our way to a festival. Conversations are struck up. We enjoy the company of two other couples for a while. They’ve just bought new homes and moved into them. I’m surprised to learn that they moved into my old neighborhood in Penn Hills, PA. I learn that one couple are now living in the house that my aunt’s family lived in up the street at 314 Laurie Drive. I wonder if anyone has moved into my old house and start asking questions.
We stop at a cafe. Adjacent to the sidewalk, it’s open on every side except the back. The cafe is light, airy, white and yellow decor. We sit in the back right corner. Drinks are ordered. We’re chatting with others. Everyone is so friendly and happy. Elderly people in black are passing on the sidewalk. One slips and falls. We all shout and leap up to help her. Five or six others fall. We realize that they’re playing a joke on us as sly grins spread across their faces. We all have a good laugh.
A little blonde girl sits beside me. She tells me she’s moved. She says she lives at 314 Laurie Drive. I turn to one of the men and he acknowledges, yes, that’s his daughter.
Then we’re walking again, resuming the way to the festival. My wife and I reach a hill. We can see a new housing plan below. The houses are all pastels. Many are turquoise and pink. Some are yellow and pink. They have round, green yards. Most have one or two doghouses in their yards. The doghouses are always in the same color as the people’s house. I ask my wife if we should buy one of those houses. She laughs and answers, “Those aren’t for us.” I nod in agreement because I feel the same. They’re too contrived and conform to some code that’s alien to us. We turn and move on.
An uplifting sequence of dreams all the way around.
I’m not going into details about dreams last night. I think, remembering so much, it would consume chunks of time and I have things planned that need time. So, in summary.
I dreamed first that I was with men in the military. It was not the U.S. military, but I don’t know what nation it was from. I was a young man, training the men how to build things. We were just finishing up, and it had been very success. I was basking in popularity. Young women came along. To help with celebrations for finishing, they set up a small store. The white store was decorated in purple and pink with heavy glitter, amusing me. They were giving out candy that was in buckets. A place beside them was grilling food. Everyone, including me, was eating, and having a good time.
Then, dream change, I was with a group of women. Again, I was a young man. We were out in a meadow surrounded by lush, heavy forests. It was a small group. The women were variously dressed in white, purple, or yellow gowns. I’m not certain what I wore. I think I may have been wearing orange. I was teaching the women. We were just finishing when a flock of birds flew overhead, seizing our attention. I said to them, “That’s a fitting ending.”
The third was briefest, where I, once again, a young man, was in a little classroom in a small, old schoolhouse, teaching young children. The schoolhouse was white. We were sitting on the wooden floor. I was talking to them, telling them stories, and they were laughing and cheering in response.
Remembering the dreams invigorates me and makes me smile. All were so sweet and affirming, even if it doesn’t come off that way in my brief captures. If only all dreams left such a positive impact when we awaken and take on the day.
It’s a flash dream. A little white girl. Chubby and blonde, in pink shorts and red shirt. She’s about six years old. She shouts, “No! No more children!”
Then she stands and thrusts out a chubby pale arm. “They are what they eat and they eat what they are.”
She strikes a pose on her toes, arms over her head. “Kazamm. It is fixed.”
Her life. She had such a life. All centered on her children. Now. Had been different. Career. Charity work. Volunteering at the Guild and the Food Bank, delivering meals to shut-ins, meeting with the garden club and the book club.
All gone with her macular degeneration. Reducing her life to her children. No, her grandchildren. She and her daughter ‘did not get along’. Saw politics differently. Education. Fashion. Manners. Daughter blamed her for – “Whatever,” she usually explained, too limp to delve deeper into words and emotions, too worn to extricate and untangle the relationship to the satisfaction of anyone outside of it.
The grandchildren, though – twins. He, dyslexic. Energetic. Masculine but wary. She, in the forefront. Quick-minded, always watching, pausing to see. Cowboy boots – red – and sparkling tutus. She, ordering him on what to do, when to do it. How. Correcting him. He, obeying, sometimes with frustration, which the girl child – they were only eight, miniature people, perfect little unblemished slender human replicas – soothed with whispers and touches. She could not see their future. That worried her.
Then him. His life. No life. Writing. Living to write. Brooding, apparently writing in his head. Reading. Walking around, sipping coffee, staring at walls, floors, windows, always there but never there. Her son. She could no longer connect with him at all. He was a house that couldn’t be entered. Curtains on the windows. No doors in nor out.
Phone rang with an old-fashioned tinny sound reminding her of the happy times at her grandmother’s home. Her daughter was calling. She didn’t want to answer. Probably about money. Usually was, when she called. She put a smile into her voice. Shook off her weariness. Must not upset the princess lest she cut off access to the grandchildren. But she would not do that, would she?
Not a chance to be taken. “Hello, honey,” she said, fake happiness in her voice, pressing forward with her life.
I dreamed I was with a gaggle of people, all clothed, all my age. Mixed races were represented. Males, females, and different sexual orientations were in evidence. We were outside, awaiting movement to somewhere. We were all in our twenties.
A doctor examined me and pronounced me healthy. That cheered me. I felt ready for my trip. It seemed like I’d been planning it for a long time. At last the day was here. I was in good spirits.
Little organization was evidenced. We were just a group waiting, though. How much organization is needed? You ate when desired, or took a bathroom break, if needed. Though we were outside, everything was available.
Then, during a pee break, I discovered blood in my urine. Upset, I went to the doctor and reported it. He immediately examined me and pronounced me healthy. Reassured, I returned to the queuing area and visited with others, chatting about where we were going. None of us were sure about the destiny or what we would find, but we were all sure that it was going to be better than where we’d been.
I took another pee break. More blood in my urine. Upset, I reported in for medical care. The doctor wasn’t in, I was told, but would be there soon. Go back and wait. I’ll be called when the doctor arrived.
I returned to the waiting area. Preoccupied with my medical problem and morose, I sat away from the rest. Time wore on. We became restless, wondering, what’s the hold up? Weren’t we supposed to be gone by now? As we waited, I heard another woman, Michelle, go up and ask for medical treatment for blood in her urine. I didn’t say anything to her but I was interested in her details. They told her that a doctor would be with her soon. She went back and spoke with her friends, all women. I edged closer but couldn’t hear their conversation.
Doctors came in. One was the American actor, Steven Weber. I thought, at last, treatment. But now, general info was made. There was a delay, etc. Be patient. We’ll be with you shortly.
Why couldn’t they just treat us now, I wondered. Tired of waiting, most people drifted away. I stayed where I was. They came in, calling for Michelle. I volunteered that she’d gone elsewhere. They didn’t seem to hear me so I repeated myself. They still didn’t seem to hear or notice me. Admin people talked among themselves. They needed to find Michelle because she had a medical problem. It might get worse. I have the same problem, I said. They told me to wait, a doctor will be with me soon.
The doctors had left while this was happening. Only I remained of the original group. I didn’t know where they’d gone. I was now in a building’s shade. People came down. One was a young boy. He had two fluffy ginger and white cats. One was a kitten. He kept telling everyone that his cat needed medical care. Others tried telling him to relax and calm down, care was coming, but he was adamant, he needed care for his cat right now.
I learned his name was Michael, which was my name. Another child with two cats, calicos, adult and kitten, came into the scene. This child was younger, perhaps six. He walked around telling everyone that his cats were going to pay his bills. The cat wanted to. He did it online. I thought the kid was a little disconnected from reality.
A woman in a black sweater and skirt came by. She was white, with short black hair. I realized as I watched her that it was Heather Graham, the actress. She poured a small cup of water with ice and lime in it and walked around. As she came by me, I thought she was going to throw it on me. I told her not to do that. She answered, “No, you look thirsty. I thought you needed a drink of water.”
The dream ended.
To begin, it’s the late 1960s on a hot, dry day. I’m younger than now but not appropriate for that era vis-à-vis my life. After watching some Formula 1 practice action, a dust-up between two cars at one corner stops practice. Strapped into my car, I’d been waiting to go out. Leaving my car, I returned to the garage area to get out of the sun and get a drink.
The two drivers involved with the accident, Sir Stirling Moss and Sir Graham Hill, come in. They’re trying to figure out what happened, so they’re going to talk it over. I suggest some coffee. Coffee was served to them in small glass cups. They finished it quickly. I told them that maybe we should sit down. They agreed to that and move to a table to one side. I asked and they agreed, they could use more coffee. I brought the pot over to serve them. Both glasses were sitting on a shelf above the table. I didn’t know which cup belonged to which driver. They tell me that it doesn’t matter. I poured the coffee into the cups. The coffee is light with milk as it came out of the pot.
Next, Tina Fey is walking around inside hallways which were in my body. As far as I know, I’m the only other present, but she’s acting like her 30 Rock character. My first reaction is, wow, Tina Fey is here. Second: she’s in my body. Third: there are hallways in my body. Fourth: Tina Fey is in my body making jokes about my organs. Consumed by those four thoughts, I understood nothing that she actually said.
A dreamshift takes place. I’m outside of a motel/lodge, in the parking lot, by the raised cement sidewalk. The motel is modeled after modernized log cabins. A candy stand dominates the sidewalk. Tiered rows of candy offerings face me. I’m amazed by the selection. Every candy I think of — Jujubes, Good n’ Plentys, Mars and Mounds bars, Dots, Old Henrys, York Peppermint Patties, are all there in neat rows. But they’re expanding, adding another section, to add more candy.
I’m amazed that so much candy is for sale and amazed that they’re preparing to offer yet more. There is nothing but candy. Shouting children begin running up to the stand. SMH, I enter the lodge.
Adult motel workers and customers are inside. I know several because I’ve been staying there on a writing retreat for a few days. Now, though, I’m supposed to go meet my wife at another hotel. I’m to take a pale blue dress with pale orange trim to my wife. It’s way too big for her, probably five times her width, but a perfect length if she’s six feet tall (but she’s just five four), but she requested it. So I’m carrying this dress around for her.
Discarded candy and candy packages litter the lodge’s deep brown carpeting. I’m incredulous. Laughing and screaming children — no doubt charged by sugar, I think — are running about. I change (don’t know where that was done) into new light gray shorts. They have a bright blue string. I speak with my wife on the telephone and tell her that I’m on my way. Then, first, where’s the dress? It was on a hanger. I set it down and now I don’t see it.
Then I need to urinate. I find a bathroom. Weirdly, it’s at a juncture where one side is a hallway to rooms and the other faces the foyer/waiting area. The two walls are sliding accordion doors which need pulled to and locked. I attempt to do this but each keep sliding open, though I slam them. I then discover there’s a screw lock at the top of the accordion doors; I firmly screw that in place and start to do my business. I see that the screw is turning, becoming undone. Irritated, I screw it tight again. Sure that it’s secure, I step up to the urinal to pee and discover my shorts are in the urinal. They’re getting wet. Exasperation growing, I pull my shorts back. One accordion door has slid open. My shorts are pulled half down, so I’m effectively mooning people. A manager and customer come by to tell me. I answer back with explanations about the doors and how unimpressed I am by these doors. They’re chuckling. The male customer keeps joking, “Your bulls are showing,” by which I realize he means my ass. I joke back that I’m running with the bulls. Yeah, lame.
Although my shorts are wet, I’ve managed to pee and I’m ready to go again. Someone has found the blue and orange dress that I’m taking to my wife and call out, “Does anyone claim this?” I do, I answer, then explain that I’m taking it to my wife at her request. It’s way too big for her, I explain — I think it’s bigger than it was before — but she requested it.
That’s where it all ends.
I dreamed I was to deliver four pies to people living in the woods. A young person was assisting me. I don’t know what flavors the pies were, but part of it was that I heat the pies and cut each into six equal slices, and then deliver them. The entire time that this is going on, “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is playing. I don’t know the source of that.
Being a dream where things don’t always make sense, the pies were in a car, a light blue little machine of unknown name. Also in a car was a young white child. The child was a threat, others told me; don’t let him bite you, and don’t let him out of the car.
But I also heat the pies in the car, and could see them through two large side glass windows. I’d already cut them before heating them. Now they were ready.
My young assistant and I slide the windows down preparatory to opening the doors to get the pies. Here comes the kid! Oh, no! I was talking to him in a soothing voice, asking him if he’d like a piece of pie. He rushed forward. “He’s going to bite us,” my young assistant yelled. “Put the windows up,” I shouted. We slid them up.
Round two. “This is ridiculous,” I said, laughing. “Let’s try again.” We reheated the pies. How? I don’t know. It’s something I said in the dream, then waited for seconds, if that, and they were done. We slid down the windows. I talked to the child as I did. The child stayed back. We opened the doors and started taking out the pies. The child rushed us. We returned the pies, closed the doors, and shut the windows before he could reach us.
Others were concerned; that’d been close. He almost reached us. “Third times a charm,” I announced. “Let’s try again.” All progressed as before. We were able to get the pies out. I gave the child in the car a piece of pie. I think that was southern pecan. He sat down and started eating.
Success achieved.
Bonus dream: I was with my youngest sister, L. We were in her car, a blue Mustang convertible. The car was about ten years old. She was driving and I was a passenger. We’d stopped for her to talk with a friend. In the course of that, I got out to stretch my legs and was standing a few feet behind the car. The passenger door was open. My sister announced to the other that she was going to back the car up. I called out to her, warning her that her door was open, that she was going to remove the door.
She ignored me or didn’t hear…whatever, she backed the car up. The open door hit a brick wall and was torn away. Reacting with horrified dismay, she stopped the car. As I told her that I’d been telling her about the open door, we hurried to assess the damage. I expected the door to be gone but instead, the top layer of paint had been peeled off like it was molded part that fit over it, leaving the door intact — and still attached to the car — but a flat black color.
As I tried to understand how that had transpired while sympathizing with my sister, she mentioned that it bugged her because she was going to get a new car, and now her trade-in value would be lower. The whole thing left me subdued, wondering what’d happening, how it happening, and at her muted reaction.
The dream ended.
I could go on with the other dreams — oh, what a night — but those two were the prominent ones.
Michael Seidel, writer 