Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Totally different environment for me. A young man, I didn’t look anything like the me from RL, except of the commonalities of being a white male with brown hair. I’d joined a household. I’m not sure what my status. I was given tasks and expected to get them done. I was working alone.
I was working alone, going in and out of the kitchen to the outside, as others came but mostly went. They ignored me so I only glanced at them, seeing who they were and so on. My job was to select fruit, mostly pears, to throw away. The pears were large, of the Bartlett or Bosc varieties often found in grocery stores, but larger than you’d find. Some were almost as large as my head.
As I worked this, transferring them from one location to another, I thought, why are we throwing these pears away? After examining them, I questioned what was going on and concluded they would be perfectly good to eat. Changing my process, I removed the tossed pears to a kitchen location and moved the rest of the pears there.
Then, on a whim, I made lunch for everyone. I wasn’t certain what to do and learned on the fly but made and baked a square pizza. Without planning to, I ended up with a house on it. As I did this, I encountered a bearded man with curly hair leaving the bathroom. Saying, “Excuse me,” I pushed past him, but thought, who is he?
I turned back and introduced myself, sticking out my hand as I did. “Michael,” I said.
We shook as he said, “Patrick.” But he didn’t call me Michael at any point in the dream. The name he called me was something like Metcalf.
Most of the people, including the head man, had returned. Seeing the pears, he said, “What are those?”
I explained what I’d done and asked him, “Do you think you can eat these?”
I cut one up for his inspection. As he looked at it, he said, “Where did these come from?”
“There were grown here, in your garden,” I replied.
He looked at a woman beside him and asked, “Is this true?”
“Yes,” she answered.
I gathered that he didn’t know what he was growing here.
Next, I showed them my house pizza. Patrick and others declared that they wouldn’t eat it. They thought it inedible. I defended the pizza but they refused. Shrugging that off, I cut some off and ate it myself, finding it delicious.
We’d moved outside. There were sixteen or seventeen of us on a sloping green lawn. As a sort of outside, I was on the edge and alone. A tiger approached me. Patrick said, “Don’t worry [some name], I’ll take care of him.”
Annoyed, I answered, “That’s not my name, and I’m not worried.”
They began talking. I asked, “What are you talking about?” None replied to me, feeding my irritation.
Finally Patrick said, “You haven’t said what you think, [some name].”
I said, “Why can’t you get my name right? I introduced myself to you. I’m Michael. And I can’t say what I think because none of you would tell me what you’re talking about.”
The head guy said, “We’re talking about how we would summarize 2022. What would you say about it?”
After a second of thought, I said, “I’d call it one of the best years in the last fifty years.” I was saying that to get a rise out of them because they’d been saying that it was a bad year. Then, doing the math, because ‘fifty’ was an impulse, I realized that fifty years ago was when I turned sixteen.
Dream end.
I was at some corporate headquarters. A takeover had just been completed. Two others — women — and I were there to go through boxes of stuff. We were part of the company which had just been taken over. But the boxes were from our old company as well as other companies our new corporate masters had previously taken over.
Our boxes were the usual eclectic mix from a software company that had hundreds of computers and monitors for testing. Cables, keyboards, hard drives, zip drives, cassettes, collateral electronic equipment, and tools — small screwdrivers and pliers for working on computers. We were working in a large, open and carpeted space at the junction of elevators and hallways. People went by as we worked, sometimes stopping to make comments. A fun atmosphere prevailed, one of both nostalgia and exploration.
Others began bringing us other boxes. These were from the companies taken over before. Go through those, we were told. See if there’s anything useful. Take what you want.
Bizarrely, first there were cosmetics and personal hygiene kits. One for women, another for men. They were quite fancy. Apparently, we guessed, those were used as a marketing gimmick, given out at trade shows. Using one of those, I washed my face and hair. Then I moisturized. I walked about, looking for a mirror to see myself. Others brought more boxes from my old company. What’s this stuff? I looked through it. Computer games. Purchased software. Why’d they have thought, they wanted to know. Well, some of it was because they needed the programs to do the work. Other stuff was market research, or about packaging and instructions.
I found a hammer and nail. On a whim, I decided to drive the nail into my skull, on the left front temple, right below the hairline. After a little testing, I decided the hammer wasn’t required. The nail was a ten penny steel nail. Pressing its tip into my skin, I wiggled it until it started going in. Then I pressed it firmly down until only the head and about an eighth of an inch of nail showed. I’d left that amount so that I could get it back out more easily. There wasn’t any pain or blood. A little clear fluid trickled out. Brain fluid, I guessed. I was pretty pleased with what I’d done even as I knew it was a little stupid.
More boxes were brought, providence unknown. Others saw the nail in my head. Why did I do that? To see if I could. Doesn’t it hurt? No. I’m sure it’s doing brain damage, I told others. I thought I should remove it but first, I started going through the newest boxes.
Inside these were men’s clothing. It was expensive stuff. Unused. I wondered where it came from. I asked people who went by if they knew. No one did until a woman going by said, that used to belong to the CEO. He was always buying new clothes. Because he liked clothes so much, people were also always giving him clothes.
I tried a shirt on. It was something beachy. It fit and I liked the style. Keep it, people told me. Take whatever you want. Okay.
I still had the nail in my head. I decided it was time to take it out. Finding a mirror, I seized it between my fingernail and gently pulled it free. It didn’t bleed but a little clear fluid trickled out. More brain fluid, I guessed again.
I wanted to put something on the spot where I’d pulled out the nail and began looking for medical supplies, going through the boxes. There were now so many, we had piles of them all over the place. More clothing and electronic gear was discovered. Games. Other software. Others kept interrupting with questions. People wanted to take some stuff. Go ahead, I said.
I finally found a medicine kit. It was huge. Very fancy. All I needed was a small bandage. I found gauze pads and tape. I was just trying to decide what to do when the dream ended.
Began with my wife and I establishing a home in a new location. Part of a community, seemed to be part of an apartment complex or condo. Outside, but up in the condo (that’s what I’ll go with) (and yes, it was both things – I was inside and outside at once), I set up reaffirming our place’s boundaries. This involved setting up green wooden railings on decks. Just trying to ensure that we were living up to our agreement. There were also storage units. Did we want those? someone asked my wife, who asked me. Yes, we did, I answered. She relayed that back.
Then we were inside. She was going off on some activity. I was working. A journalist. For some reason, it was important to keep my identity and work secret, along with my marriage. My wife and I were living together as husband and wife, but it was important others didn’t know that. Don’t know why. Other women approached, observing me. Wanted to know who I am. What I was doing. I kept responses to a minimum. They peeked into my home, attempting to see more. Fortunately, they didn’t see my wife’s clothing and items. She was worried about that, but we were safe. She kept coming and going.
Meanwhile, I’m writing. Outside the place, I see others reading my previous material. I’m afraid they’ll realize it’s me. Can’t have that. One person, a male, worries me most. Younger, he seems overly interested in me. I attempt to avoid him.
People are discussing my work. They don’t know it’s my work. Then they want to know what I’m doing. What am I working on? Can’t avoid them seeing that I’m writing, so I tell them that I am writing and revising. I downplay what it is. They’re insistent and prying. I finally tell them, I’m writing and revising. This is who I am.
Dream ends.
It began…with work. Although I work for no one but myself now, most of my dreams these days skip around work and identity. It’s an amusing glimpse into my psyche, as if I’m saying, who am I without work? (I don’t consider writing working; don’t like to use that term for writing. Seems like calling fiction writing work debases the fiction. Crazy, right?)
Working for a man somewhere. I don’t know what I was doing, but I was good at it and enjoying it. He was sending me on a business trip. I’d been to the destination before but wasn’t overly familiar with it, so he and I went over a three-D map of where I was to go, to improve my comfort zone.
I had days before I was to leave, and had no reason to hurry. I went home as part of my normal day. We were sharing a house with another family. It was an odd arrangement. We also had young cats. My wife was going around, hiding treats for the cats to find.
I decided that I needed to check my clothing for my trip. I went into the closet and went through my suits and shirts. Nothing in there satisfied me, so I went off to buy more. Nothing in the first store suited my moods and needs so I pushed through stores, seeking the right product. When I finally did find it, after a search that took me from mid-afternoon to late dusk, I held up a suit and smiled, knowing that was it.
The dream ended.
Three out of five dreams. It sounds like one of those old commercials about dentists and gum.
Of my five remembered dreams last night, two were intriguing but don’t pester my brain as the others do. The last one was downright depressing.
In the first of the three, I’d come to have a new Aston Martin roadster. Gorgeous car, ticketing out to a quarter million dollars. Deciding to keep it, I forged documents to show myself as the owner. Then I drove it around, showing it off.
People were admiring. I basked in it. Young friends asked for rides. I obliged, turning off traction control and shredding expensive tires with smoky burnouts.
Then…I started wondering, what’s going to happen? How will this end? They company will realize that the documents are forgeries. I thought, I need to get it back to them, and began crazy plotting to do that.
I assign this dream to the imposter syndrome surfacing yet again.
The second dream, brief, was amusing and sardonic.
I was in a large warehouse sort of building. Pale green, it was well-lit. Several others were with me. As we walked around and looked around — the dream provided no excuse for this setting — someone said, “What do all those buttons and switches do?”
And I, still looking up at the ceiling, answered, “Try them and see. That’s what I always do.”
Yeah, see? I always press my own buttons.
In the third dream to be discussed, I was leaving one overseas location to go home. I don’t think I was in the military…at first.
Ah, yes: confused identity. Still fall back on identifying myself in the military as who I am.
There was a gathering first…for someone else, another, who was younger. I supported that, giving gifts. I had a collection of things I wanted to keep together. Some many things were happening in parallel, all became a hasty rush. Going to leave — because it was time — someone gave me a pile of shredded docs and torn papers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“That stuff you wanted to keep because it was important.”
I was incredulous, of course. “It’s all destroyed.”
“But it’s all there.”
They thought was a joke.
I tried shaking it off. Champagne was there.
“Let’s have champagne to celebrate my friend.” I picked up the bottle and unwrapped the cork, then popped it off. It discharged with tired energy, barely emitting a pop and shooting off about six feet. So dismaying.
Champagne foamed out. I stoppered it with my thumb. “We need glasses.” All started searching for something to pour the champagne in. No drinking glasses could be found. We improvised with paper cups that we made.
Then I was off to leave. You ever see the show, “Burn Notice”? Bruce Campbell plays Sam Axe in it; he sometimes employs a fake identity, Chuck Finley.
Well, here was Bruce as Sam, saying he was Chuck, accompanying me to the checkpoint.
I’m in an Air Force uniform now, last in light. An old guy is checking me through. You put your name onto a clipboard and sign it, then produce your document. He was looking for a form 126. I didn’t have my form 126. I searched and searched. I had it earlier; now it was gone.
“Then you can’t go in,” he said.
Sam Axe to the inspector, “Come on, buddy, can’t you cut him a break?”
The inspector just looked at him.
Sam tried again. “You know who he is?” He indicates me. “You don’t want to piss him off.”
I pulled out my wallet, the one purchased in the Philippines long ago. I still have it, it’s lovely, but I don’t use it. In the dream, it started falling apart in my hands. “My wallet,” I said. “I bought this in the Philippines when I was young.”
The inspector graced me with a sad headshake and walked away. Sam said, “Well, I tried.” He handed me clothes and walked off.
I was in my uniform. I would change now. I removed my Air Force trousers and put on the new trousers. They were about two feet too long and way too large at the waist. They also emitted a weird black dust.
Sighing, I removed them, intending to put my uniform back on. A tour group of women arrived, talking about books, as I was changing. “One woman said, “Sir, you need to leave. You’re in our way.”
Ouch. Dream end.
I half-awoke with dreams drifting through my head. Grey morning light dully lit the room. A cat could be heard puking in the other room.
Ouch.
I was working for a company whose mission seemed to be tracking fingerprints on the Internet. A young and brilliant bearded guy was our leader. Many young people worked there.
I’m not certain of my responsibilities with this company. I also had a second job with the NSA. When I came into work at the company, they told me, “We can’t find any traces of you on the Internet. Your fingerprints are completely missing.” They took some time to explain that was very unusual.
I resumed working but kept thinking about what they were saying. I knew that the NSA was always covering my tracks and hiding my fingerprints. I suspected something they were doing was spreading to other activities.
I took my suspicions to the CEO and engineering time. They didn’t know I was working for the NSA but thought that what I was suggesting was possible.
It was time to party. The company was celebrating a milestone. As part of that, they were re-creating early scenes from the company. Everyone but me was involved. I hadn’t been there, so I stayed back to watch. It mostly involved people singing, dancing, and laughing.
The CEO visited with me. “Do you want some tea?”
“Sure,” I said.
We were both lying down, which is how we worked there. He turned. Behind his back was a small white tray with two tiny white cups and a small and delicate teapot and creamer.
He handed me a thimble-sized cup. I reached for the pot to fill it but discovered it already full.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Wheatberry.”
I drank it down. It scalded my throat but tasted fantastic.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s amazing. I feel like it’s a shot of energy.”
Nodding, the CEO answered, I”It is,” and walked away.
The dream ended.
I’m a young boy climbing a slippery dark green hill in the dream. It seems like it’s late in the day.
I’m muddy and grass stained. I hold onto tufts of grass to pull myself forward. The grass breaks again and again. I fall backwards and slide, but catch myself. I’m making progress, but it’s slow, wearying, and tedious.
A shadow passes over me. Engrossed with my climbing, I notice it but don’t look up. When it passes me again, I think, bird. When the shadow goes over me a third time, it seems slower and larger, so I look up.
It’s a man with wings.
My first thought is, “Angel.” He’s grubby and bearded, though, with dirty hair and torn clothing. I decide, “That’s not an angel.”
Wings beating the air, he hovers above me. I think, he shouldn’t be able to do that. His wings aren’t beating fast enough. I wonder if wires hold him up.
He says, “Do you have the map?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
He says, “The map. You’re supposed to have the map.” He’s speaking slow and loud. “Do you have it?”
I shake my head. I want to continue climbing the hill.
After watching me some time in a way that makes me itch, he flies away. I resume climbing. Then, thinking, the map, I stop and begin searching my clothes for the map. I recall, yes, I’m supposed to have a map. I remember the flying man and realize that I’m no longer a little boy. I want to turn and look down the hill. The hill seems like a mountain now. I don’t look back because I think I’m still back there, climbing as a little boy. I don’t want to see that.
I search the sky instead, looking for the flying man, trying to catch a glimpse of his shadow.
I think, was I the flying man?
He could’ve looked like me.
Or I looked like him.
Dreamed a lawyer was trying to seduce me. Blonde and female, she was young and friendly.
hadn’t started long that, though. First, she and several other young lawyers showed up. All were dressed in suits with trousers. She wore a gray suit with a white shirt. There may have been four in the beginning. They’d already to literally practice law by observing and doing mock cases. None were anyone that I know.
I was young and they were young. I wasn’t a lawyer. Seems like sometimes I was in the military but other times that I wasn’t, which amused me during the dream.
I found a place to sit on a secluded cement space just outside the courtroom area. The center was a courtroom; the rest was like a small arena. I wasn’t there to watch, but to rest and take a nap. The young lawyers arrived. I observed them but didn’t think much more about it than, “Look; young lawyers.” All were dressed neatly.
They came over to where I was seated and asked if they could sit there, too. Sure; I didn’t care. There was space. The blonde, and a slender, dark-haired white male, sat beside me. He was dressed in a blue suit with a white shirt and red and blue striped tie.
She was immediately adjacent to me. I had a blanket, and I told them that I was going to take a nap. They were fine with that. The mock trial started as I pulled my blanket up. The blonde said she was cold; would I mind sharing my blanket?
Sure, no problem. The trial continued. I was making comments about it because I knew the people involved, which surprised the lawyers. I shrugged it off; it was just stuff that I knew. The blonde cuddled up against me. As I drifted toward sleep, her hands roved over me. She began kissing me.
Amused, I chatted with her about it. She told me that she wanted me. I told her that I was flattered but I was going to pass. She was understanding. She went off to get something. Her friend told me that the blonde really liked me. The whole thing amused me, as it was so much like high school.
One mock trial ended. I was going off to another area. He wanted to walk with me. “Sure, come on.”
We left the courtroom arena. Now we were inside an enormous atrium attached to a tall, large building. I knew that I was on the eleventh floor. We could look down and see other sidewalks and bridges, all of it connecting buildings, all of it inside. I was chatting with the lawyer, who was young, bright, and friendly. He was also gay, he told me. Well, cool, fine he was friendly and polite person, so what’s orientation have to do with anything?
He wasn’t sure how to get to the next courtroom, so I took him there. We arrived, and as we were chatting, the judges arrived. Two were previous commanders of mine, 0-6 colonels. They greeted me, making jokes about things, hamming it up for the others beginning to arrive.
I took me leave as others arrived. The blonde female lawyer arrived dressed in a tight, dark-blue dress. She kissed me hello, told me that she had a room nearby, and suggested that we go. I let her take my hand and lead me away.
The dream ended.
Michael Seidel, writer 