It was a strange dream. It should have been a scary dream, or even a bad dream, but it wasn’t… it was more, well, adventurous. We (I’ll just say we because it was such a melange of people I know, knew and have never really met before, but know) were at some sort of fair or carnival or huge outdoor market. The mood was festive and we were all around 22-25 years old again, single and carefree. It was evening and the fair seemed to be both open air and multi-storey at the same time. We laughed, chatted and joked as we coursed then trickled then pushed our way through the crowds who ebbed and flowed from one ride, stall or attraction to the next.
We would be appoached by someone punting their wares or trying to coax us onto their ride, but for the most part we would brush them off without missing a beat in the conversations we were having. We seemed to be headed somewhere in particular… but we were in no hurry to get there. After some time, I realised that there was a pattern in the people that were approaching me. They all seemed to be of middle eastern origin and bizzarely, they weren’t selling anything. The first, I don’t know how many - maybe 3, were completely ignored and then somewhere in my subconscience I realised they all held a xeroxed peice of paper. As the next one appoached with his paper I realise he was trying to get me to follow him into one of the ‘exits’, which were similar to the exit ramps you would find in a multi-storey parking lot. I smiled politely and said ‘no thanks’, knowing there was NO way I would follow a stranger away from ‘my crowd’. He wasn’t pushy and I just assumed he had some knock-off designer watches he wanted to sell.
It happened again, this time his complexion seemed to be swarthy instead of dark, his eyes were no longer brown but black and then there was the xeroxed paper - and it was me that was targeted, not any of my friends. More aware of what was happening this time, I was a little unnerved so I looped my arm through one of my guy companions (I think it was my boyfriend - remember I was single and carefree)… but continued bantering with the gang. When it happened again, I couldn’t deny any longer that it wasn’t a coincidence. I was slightly perturbed, and told the guy to ‘shove off’ and I tried to sneak a peak at the paper in his hands, which he instinctively pressed to his chest. I had managed to catch a glimpse though and a chill ran through me. I was sure I had seen, in black and white photocopy, of a picture ME. I wasn’t certain, but I knew in my ‘inner knower’ that there was something terribly wrong.
Working our way forward, my eyes were peeled for the next guy. Sure enough, he was there, but this time I saw him before he saw me, I stepped in behind my companion tso as not to be recognised and as we got closer I was suddenly in his face. Full of confidence I grabbed the paper, tearing it, but managing to have enough proof in my hands… In one smooth motion, I glanced at it and tucked it into my back pocket - my senses were working overtime… I was weighing up the ‘whys’ and the ‘how did theys’ and the ‘who are theys’ and I remember it was a photograph I had put on my blog. I shivered and realised that they, whoever they were, probably knew alot about me if they had tied me to my site.
I was ready to confide in a few of my friends when the alarm went off. It was more like a curfew than an alarm, but we all seemed to know that we needed to ‘duck inside’ and wait it out. The sliding glass doors of our bunker slid closed… the bunker was a mix of ultra modern and old WWI. The walls were mud and clay but the glass, steel and gagetry that closed around us was very hi-tech. We strained our necks to see the commotion outside and from my purposely positioned view-point right in the centre of our crowd, I was amazed at how fast the thoroughfare cleared. The police cars screached up and down and in and out of these ‘exits’ and bellowed into loud speakers for the odd stray person to get undercover.
It seemed as though we all knew it was some sort of terrorist search, but we didn’t seem fazed. It all seemed as though it was very routine, and by the looks of the design of the ‘bunkers’ it must have been commonplace for this to happen. After a while activity stopped outside, the doors slid open and we carried on our merry way. There was some lighthearted discussion in the crowd and some guessing as to what the problem was this time… but none of us seemed overly concerned. I had a niggly apprehension that it was something to do with me, but brushed the thought aside. Then it happened again, and again and again.
Somewhere along the way, we had acquired a cart of some sort, and our excursion through this ‘market type fair’ took on a more hay-ride atmosphere. Couples were snuggling to keep warm but no one (other than myself) felt there was any danger. As the alarm started ringing again, I pulled the torn, folded sheet out of my pocket and showed it to my partner. I shared my concern and suddenly, this time, the bunker-type-refuge took on the feel of a ‘safe place’. Our whole group knew I was in imminent danger and they rallied to hide and protect me. We knew we had to get away from the multi-story-fair, but we were at the heart of it.
The dream, which seemed to last all night, turned into a fantastic hunt and chase. From alarm to alarm we worked our way from bunker to bunker… I would catch glimpses of my pursuers, but the police/guards managed to keep them at bay. No one seemed to panic, and I felt the safety of numbers but as the final alarm went off and our cart drove into the last bunker I looked over my shoulder and realised that the sliding doors that were meant to protect me had separated me from my friends.
I was on my own in a dark, dank chamber in what appeared to be an underground parking lot. I could hear water trickling and the thought of it being rat infested made me shiver as much as seeing my friends cart disappearing on the other side of the soundproofed, bullet proof, most likely enter-proof glass wall. Still, I didn’t panic. Then they started appearing… all the faces in the crowd that tried to coax me into following them, one by one. I knew they weren’t going to hurt me, but they were going to take me to someone who was.
I followed like a lamb and glanced back only once to see if by any chance my friends were coming to rescue me… It seemed I hadn’t even been missed yet.
When I was taken to my assailant, I think I expected it to be Sadam Hussein himself (I still didn’t feel any tremendous fear) and I was very shocked to find myself standing infront of a very pretty young woman. She was wearing a white doctor’s jacket and her shiny black hair fell down to her shoulders. She was fine featured with beautiful black eyes and a complexion to die for, I guessed she was from Iraq or Iran… but I couldn’t really tell. I smiled and said “Hello, how can I help you?” In her heavy accent she told me to ‘shut up’, although it didn’t sound so harsh coming from her beautiful face.
A glass screen (like the one in Minority Report) lit up… and video clips of me began to play. There were pictures of me flashing up in rapid succession, and scenes from my life playing over and over in a contunuous loop… She gave me time to take it all in and then she started circling me, brushing my hair back over my shoulder and gently pushing my cheek to one side to get a better look at me. I realised now, and not just because of the glass wall of video, that the damp bunker was actually a very hi-tech chamber. She led me to what looked like a dentist chair and in her calm, firm tones told me to sit and lie back. She didn’t stop talking and the accusations were brutal and cutting… “Who do you think you are anyway?” “You think you are so beautiful” ... I was accused of acting and feeling superior...it went on and on. Her tone remained even, and calm.. she almost purred, but the allegations of predujice, racism and hate spewed out of her. She let me try to defend myself but I knew my words had no impact on her. Then she revealed her intentions. She said that my blonde hair was going to be replaced with back hair like her own. She pulled out the scalpel and informed me that she was going to preform a face transplant and my eyes would be surgically changed from green to black (I assumed this would be a transplant too). She told me she was a leading surgeon in this field and she didn’t fear for my health, but she hoped the transplant would cause me at least as much psychological damage as I had caused others over the years (???)… the face I was to be given was that of a beautiful young peasant woman from her own country - she knew that those who loved me would believe my story, but most likely wouldn’t love me anymore because I was such a shallow person… she didn’t feel like my character was stong enough to pull me through the change…
We were surrounded by her armed henchmen - I had no choice but to sit.
The dream had been very clear up to this point but my memory blurs a little now on the details of what happened next. I remember shouting my boyfriend’s name and he and another of my friends burst into the hi-tech bunker. I suddenly felt very safe. There was a struggle… my boyfriend seem to know the young doctor(?) and she was surprised to see him - her moment of hesitation gave us the upperhand somehow, and we escaped…
... I wasn’t finished with this dream, but I woke up to Heidi asking me why it was 7:03 and I hadn’t woken her up yet (I normally wake her up at 7am)....
So, it was a great-bad dream and I would have loved to finish it! But what would be even more fun (for those of you who actually read the whole thing) would be if someone could analyse it for me!!
Or maybe I should just swear off spice food for awhile!
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