Had a dream that was rather unique in being mostly auditory, a series of morse code bleeps with a background beat, with myself and another person occasionally remarking that it was annoying
*EDIT
Today's dream started off delightful and ended in a surreal nightmare, something rather like Lovely Sweet Dream. In the first part of the dream I was walking home from school or University, I seemed to alternate age every now and then from teenage to adult and back again as the context changed. Walking along the canal during a sunny day, one of my friends manages to push me into the canal (earlier I had pushed them in) - just before I take the plunge I manage to drop the old tome in my hand on the brick floor, but all the ancient texts in my bag were ruined by water. Disappointed that they were ruined, I said I wasn't going to accept that and brought time back 20 seconds. I fell again but was more prepared, however this time while I kept nearly all of my books dry, I hit the back of my head on the side of the embankments and the book in my hand fell in the canal. I said I would go back another 9 seconds, this time when I fell I sheltered my head with my palm, avoiding the worst of the impact. However the book in my hand was still gone - it'd been left behind in the future.
At this point my friend begrudges me for cheating by manipulating time and she calls for help, queue a roster call of about sixty past friends all jovially trying to help chuck me in the canal while I tried my best to explain I didn't mind so long as the books were protected. Things go awry after I clamp myself to the bars of a bridge, clinging for dear life and punching any who dared to approach lest I be overwhelmed and chucked in the canal. One of them grabs my spectacles and throws them in the canal, one of my friends retrieves it and passes it back to me. The person who had thrown the specs was no friend, they were a notorious cunt who was tremendously mean spirited to the world in their day; even to this day, while I can't remember their last name, I remember how they required no motive to pick a fight with quite literally anyone and everyone.
After they realised they were standing alone and everyone was pissed off at them, they backed away and ran into the underpass - one friend (who now resembled Alfred Hitchcock for some reason) and I pursued. The Hitchcock friend said to stop, and look for traps. I thought there was no way he would stoop so low as to deploy traps, but sure enough once I activated my phone torch, I found the tunnel exit blocked off, the wall hanging with nooses spaced throughout the tunnel and tripwires all over the floor - whether to knock us off balance or to activate some unseen mechanism, we weren't keen to find out. Nevertheless I did I find out after one of the tripwires was accidentally activated, causing two of the nooses to start shooting up into the ceiling, and our entrance to begin getting sealed by a sliding brick wall. Grabbing the rope, I managed to pull them down and bring the door open again, though it was proving increasingly arduous to maintain and there was the added issue of how I would eventually have to let go if we ever intended to leave.
Realising that this had gone from "prank" to "serial killer den" in 10 seconds, I called the police only to find my call picked up by the giga-cunt, who then showed up with a whole load of zombies to smugly gloat, with the zombies apparently not attacking the not-Hitchcock because he was the father of the arsehole. This seemed to surprise the not-Hitchcock too!
Being chased by the zombies, I took a stroll through my memories and ended up from southeast London to central London running through scenes in my memory - so I'd open one door and walk into a scene from another part of London, places that shouldn't be connected. The zombies followed at a sprint and were it not for the presence of flimy metal locked doors to slow them down, I'd have been ripped to pieces by them long ago. As it was, once they broke down the door they made a nightmarish slaughterhouse of the amalgamated building of memories, with people being torn, bitten and scratched into shorn limbs and ribbons of bloody bits. From behind a glass fire-window in a locked door I stared stunned, as the various mangled bits on the floor started to reanimate. Disembowled headless bodies rose up from the ground with their entrails dragging, severed heads wiggled their spines in futility, flexing contorted facial muscles in exercise. I nope'd the hell down the stairways as a headless torso opened up its torso to reveal a new maw formed out of its ribcage, this bloody barrel on legs bursting through the door to chase me down followed by a motley entourage of flesh chimeras so grotesque they'd make a Tzimisce blush.
The zombie-victim fleshlings were faster than me, so the only way I could escape was by dropping from floor to floor at the side of the stairwell, which was just barely faster than outrunning the gangly chestmouth leader. I prayed there wasn't any of them or the zombies waiting for me at the bottom of the stairwell, as I burst through... And found bored office workers. I quickly locked the door behind me and tipped a massive set of filing cabinets down on it, and then instructed all of the rest to help me do the same to the other doors at once. They asked why, and in a stroke of genius, instead of wasting valuable seconds explaining the nuances of apocalyptic flesh-constructs, I merely shouted "TERRORISTS!"
As we set about barricading the last two doors on the end of the hallway furthest from our first efforts, I began to wonder if it would be better to try and make the 40m sprint to the Thames river and try and get to a ship which could escape the UK altogether. One of the office workers begins wondering if the Thames could get clogged in waterlogged bodies (as by this point they had seen the real enemy was not terrorism, but the fleshlings), when just as one man was about to lock the door, it burst open and a thing began munching his face.
This thing was much more developed than any of the fleshlings hitherto seen, despite there having been barely an hour's time passed since the first sighting of the first zombie. It was corpse blue all over, with no head and no left arm, and a single long talon ended on its right arm. Its feet had three stubby bone lumps for toes/hooves, and faint scars showed where skin had grown over grevious wounds and torn limbs. Like barrelmouthboi, it had a chest-mouth, but this one wasn't a crude rib-cage thing, it was more like an octopus's beak, a solid streak of bone pliers now cutting through the poor man.
I grabbed this thing and pulled it out the other unbolted door, swinging it around by its talon and chucking it out. At once I took in the sight and realised getting to the river was not only impossible, but pointless. I was greeted by the sight of about a dozen fleshthings in various states of mutation, bloating, turning different shades of colour, one green bulbous thing with a horn on its head gnashed its teeth as it saw me and reached for me - only stopped as its arm was enveloped in a red worm made of its own arteries, its mutations continuing. While one of them got in my way, I somehow managed to split it in half with a fireaxe which was in my hand (in very dreamlike fashion, I never picked one up, it was just there). The body split in two revealed numerous wriggling worms, which seemed to fight with one another to decide whether they should try fixing the body or making two new ones.
The horde of demon mutant fleshlings began sprinting/pondering towards me and I shut the door, bolted it, dropped half a dozen bookshelves and cabinets over it, with more stationary for good measure until I was certain they were not getting through. I then did the same for all the rest. When we realised the dead office guy was still in the room we decided what to do; the solution was to hack his body up and burn it, but as we had no open ventilation anymore we resorted to using a barrel drum full of noxious chemicals. We then mused over our options and they were poor: If we made it to the river, the likelihood of getting on an uninfected boat on the pier was near-zero, while of the uninfected boats still on the river the likelihood they'd take us on if we swam to them was grim, while the chance of them being attacked by anything jumping from a bridge or occupying the floodgates was certain. If in the end any of the boats made it out of the estuary, it was likely there'd be a naval cordon by the remnant UK government, Europe, Ireland & the USA to keep these things from spreading off the island.
We concluded our best bets were to wait for everything to be nuclear bombed (as we were on the ground level of an incredibly sturdy building built to survive WWII, with plenty of supplies, our chances were higher staying put than moving out). As it happens, everything did get bombed to oblivion. In the aftermath most of the demon things were annihilated, and me and my tribe of office workers survived to roam the wastelands, perturbed by the occasional herd of demons that had survived - basically the dream turning into S.T.A.L.K.E.R Shadow of Swindon & Call of Peckham. This continued until our surviving tribe made it far west enough to find an Irish fortress outpost set up to research the eastern ruins.
*Editx2
Today's dream was a fairly straightforward obstacle race around what was a smaller London Underground, only the race was done without using your legs. Hauling myself around with my arms, I emerged the victor, with a face and belly blackened with soot.
Author
Topic: The Dream Thread (Read 609798 times)