First, it was playing like a period film. I was following the lives of this large family in the late Victorian period. There was the main couple; a widow who had remarried a man played by Mr. Preston of Wives and Daughters. (Or more epically, Ser Jorah Mormont–Guy who helps Savage Queen–of Game of Thrones.) There were daughters and sons by her first marriage, a daughter from her new marriage, cousins, uncles, aunts, sisters, brothers… all connected to this family. And they were all meeting on this estate for a family picnic. Several children in wide collars and pinafores were trying to get a kite to fly, and all the unmarried ladies were discussing their prospects while the married couples looked on approvingly with their tea in hand. It was quite lovely and could easily have been the end scene of a period film.
Then, in the same night but not the same dream, I was suddenly standing in the doorway of my house. It was just growing dark and I was trying to call in the little ones. I was upset because the older boys refused to come inside and the younger kids just wanted to do with their big brothers were doing. I told them this was not a joke; the zombies were coming and they’d better come in and bolt the door. They finally came, but it was reluctantly, and with no concept of the danger we were in.
We went around the house, boarding up windows and bolting the doors. The later it got, the more danger we were in because these zombies couldn’t come out in the daylight. A few minutes in the sun killed them for good.
There were a lot of frightening noises like snarling, scratching, and wailing outside our house, and gunfire from the armed forced that were sent out to stop the zombies. I’m sorry to say that in my dream my brothers were absolutely useless during this zombie apocalypse. They were more concerned about how much nacho cheese dip we had left and how long we’d have to wait before we could go buy some more.
In the morning, I opened the front door and the landscape was a COD level.
This one, to be exact:
Except for one glaring difference; zombie bodies were everywhere. Their black, charred remains were heaped into piles so large that one spilled right into the next. Being that my brothers and I were none to bright in this dream (and I have no idea where the little ones were at this point; I really hope sleeping) we wandered outside to have a closer look.
I was studying the faces of all the zombie corpses, trying to see some remnant of humanity in their expressions, and this very hostile–hostile to me–lieutenant guy started yelling and getting in my face. I had no idea what he was angry for, and the more he yelled the more his eyes took on this unnatural kind of glazed look.
That’s when I knew he was infected.
He backed me up against a large pile of zombies and I tripped and fell. My hand brushed against a gun one of the zombies had been using when destroyed, and I picked it up and fired just as the angry lieutenant did. Oh yes, and it was a long barrel pistol. That’s about as technical as I get with guns.
Apparently I killed the half-zombified lieutenant, but not before he shot me in the arm. So I got up, and I stumbled a couple feet, and there was this medic. And in my mind I was like, “Oh, hellooo conveniently-placed good-looking medic! Finally, some good fortune!”
And I passed out.
While I was recovering at home under the supervision of said medic, there was some question as to whether or not I was infected. I knew the guy didn’t bite me or anything, but no one else did.
And that dream ended. Which is a troublesome thing because I really wanted the medic to know I wasn’t a zombie.
I’ve watched far too much H2O since being shown all its wonders, because I was Cleo and my best friend Rikki and we had to convince our families to go to this one resort to be near a conference center where something significant was going to take place that we wanted to stop. I think. It was not that clear.
Eventually we found ourselves surrounded by a bunch of evil non-mermaids (mostly teenage girls with knives) who were after our secrets and we couldn’t use our amazing woodah powahs on them because after twilight our powers were too weak. So we ran through these ruins to try to escape and ended up being herded to the edge of some very rocky cliffs and we knew to get out of there alive we’d have to jump.
That was the end of that dream.
More recently I dreamed I worked at a 19th century whorehouse. But not as a whore. I was like… a maid/secretary. Then this well-to-do gentleman enlisted my help to find his kidnapped infant son and I did. He took me to his estate to let me stay a while so he could find me a better line of work but his family were a bunch of self-righteous prats who did everything in their power to make my life miserable. Then his little nephew or brother or some kind of youthful male relation asked me for advice about a girl he was fond of and somehow that set the family in an uproar which was a direct cause for my sobbing hysterically which made my new gentleman friend stand up for me and eventually propose.
Oh. He was a widower. I suppose I should have made that more clear to begin with. I think the story was that his family pressured him into matrimony, the wife turned out to be a cold fish, she had one son whom she despised and then she died from lack of willpower to be useful to anyone.
It’s the damsel complex.
Although I must say, her son and her willingness to die allowed me to find my gentleman friend. So perhaps she wasn’t entirely useless.
*This was written up as a draft weeks ago. Just fyi.