Dreams Remembered

Chapter Two: TV Guide

Chapter Two: TV Guide

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Specific Dream Characteristics:

No kinesthetic control.

Choice driven actions.

Alternate reality.

Introspective thoughts and talking.

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            Television. The sensational and constant buzz that fills the mind with a sense of endless and meaningless empty entertainment in our search for something more out of life. It creates a stifled personality and bores the creative mind. It could have been the greatest invention of mankind, but it has ground down to be the bane of thousands. I knew my thoughts were meaningless as I drifted to sleep on my couch. No wonder people fall asleep in front of the TV. As I slumped down on the green corduroy couch across from my 32-inch grey screen I felt myself slipping into a deep sleep.

            I was rudely awaked to a pleasant surprise. Out of the coffee table to my right a four-foot-tall vodka bottle grew before my very eyes. Surprised at my great fortune I proceeded to guzzle down every last drop, barely pausing for a brief breath until it was finished off. The entire time I gorged myself on the flaming liquid I was gigglingwith glee at the delightful burn.

            I was severely tipsy and slightly nauseous as I staggered past my TV.  I went down the hallway to the garage. I entered the cold grey space only to be greeted by yet another surprise. A pound of marijuana in a plastic bag lay right at my feet on the black doormat. I had never been faded before that moment, but that was about to change. After completely depleting the contents of the bag as a chain of billowing smoke blasts it would be safe to say that I was.

            I went back into the house, up the stairs and into the room I shared with my brother. I wandered around in my room aimlessly, hardly able to focus my vision. I found myself straining my eyes, locking them on particular items of interest and staring at them until the point of crying. Everything hurts. Ouch. Why is my face so fuzzy?

            I walked past the bunk bed to my dresser. The small ten by ten space seemed to be about the size of an airport. Why is this such a long journey? I opened the top drawer and pulled out a Glock 19 that was resting on top of my socks. I stared in amazement at the weapon I had never seen before.

            My brother entered the room at that very moment. I spun, startled by him saying my name, and shot his head clean off. It fell to the ground between us. Violently it grew into a pterodactyl with a wingspan of 15 feet. It was a light maroon and its skin was peeling on the entirety of its body revealing a burnt orange color underneath. The monster swiftly flew out of my room, down the upstairs hallway past my sister’s room and into my parent’s bedroom at the end of the hall. It knocked down pictures and bookshelves, tearing holes in the walls as it flapped, screeched and roared.

            Hungry. A massive wave of hunger washed over me and penetrated to my core. The munchies? Really? My head cleared somewhat and I walked with purpose down the stairs and to the kitchen. I opened the fridge only to find many glass bowls all stacked on each other. Every bowl was filled with clear water and floating blue eyeballs. The eyes were watching my every move. As I swayed back and forth they tracked my movement. Creepy. I had no more appetite;eyeballs have never looked delicious to me. Never mind, hunger is overrated.

            As I stepped out of the kitchen I looked up at the loft upstairs that overlooked the downstairs of my house. I looked and saw my dad hacking away at my sister with samurai swords in both hands. Nether one made a sound and the blades passed through her as though she were a ghost. No blood, only violent swinging and silence. This is incredibly odd. They seemed to only be looking at each other, indifferent to what was going on. So weird.

            My brother’s body wandered past in no real hurry. After all, what was he going to do with no head? As I pondered the inner complexities of this simple concept his great pterodactyl of a head flew downstairs with as much grace as a giraffe taking a drink and falling over. Entering in the living room it attacked my couch and bit in for a delicious meal with a voracious appetite. The couch screamed and writhed, trying to escape being torn and eaten. It spurtedblood everywhere from its soft white cushions. Odd. A valiant fight was put up but it was severely loosing to the large prehistoric flying reptile.

            I never saw the outcome of that fight because I lost interest and stumbled out of the house to the front lawn. The sky was clear and the weather warm. I strolled onto the deep purple grass of the front lawn and lay down. As I looked up into the leaves of the tree overhead I began to make a grass angel on the sweet smelling blades beneath me. I giggled and wriggled and continued my activity until the ground gave way and I fell through the lawn. Down into the abyss. Down, down, down. Through the ceiling of my home right down into my bed.

 Awake.