The Great Escape
Rian often wonders where the dreaming mind gets direction. Where do these visions come from?
Rian has seen violence, yes. But never truly murder. And yet Rian's mind can reproduce the sights, sounds and smells quite convincingly. But perhaps that is the media speaking.
Rian has known grief. So the stomach tearing grief of last night's smallpox episode...black pustules on Rian's dead mother's face...was not surprising.
The blank alien faces...media, again?
But the glimpse that sticks most clearly in Rian's befuddled head was the chapter at the end of last night's Epic.
A cunning escape wedged in the boot of of an alien's Honda. The lid was all but closed, Rian holding firmly with cramping fingers, a horizontal crack revealing a slice of the world outside.
Dreaming Rian knew that I would not be safe until the trees beyond the boot disappeared and the clear blue sky came back. So I lay on my back against the spare tyre and waited.
The trees coasted by. Thin, spindly brances reaching to the sun. Dogwood. Apples. Fall painted leaves. And then heavy canopies of green, the filtered light nearly grey. Arching hedges dusted with snow. Rolling, rolling, rolling past the cracked boot.
I remember fear ebbing away. And the beauty of the changing trees. And the sudden surity that the blue sky would soon appear. Safety was coming.
I have never seen such an endless carousel of trees. But twas more real, to Rian, than the bed I finally woke to.
Rian has seen violence, yes. But never truly murder. And yet Rian's mind can reproduce the sights, sounds and smells quite convincingly. But perhaps that is the media speaking.
Rian has known grief. So the stomach tearing grief of last night's smallpox episode...black pustules on Rian's dead mother's face...was not surprising.
The blank alien faces...media, again?
But the glimpse that sticks most clearly in Rian's befuddled head was the chapter at the end of last night's Epic.
A cunning escape wedged in the boot of of an alien's Honda. The lid was all but closed, Rian holding firmly with cramping fingers, a horizontal crack revealing a slice of the world outside.
Dreaming Rian knew that I would not be safe until the trees beyond the boot disappeared and the clear blue sky came back. So I lay on my back against the spare tyre and waited.
The trees coasted by. Thin, spindly brances reaching to the sun. Dogwood. Apples. Fall painted leaves. And then heavy canopies of green, the filtered light nearly grey. Arching hedges dusted with snow. Rolling, rolling, rolling past the cracked boot.
I remember fear ebbing away. And the beauty of the changing trees. And the sudden surity that the blue sky would soon appear. Safety was coming.
I have never seen such an endless carousel of trees. But twas more real, to Rian, than the bed I finally woke to.
posted by La Tulipe | 9:12 AM
1 Comments:
I should go post this in the dream thread, but I can't be arsed.
First it was a BBQ at my old house in Wesley Hill. I beat someone up, for some reason. Then, on a plane. Rian was there, actually. No panicking, either.
Then, we arrived at a maze of a hotel, where staff were making guests - my companions - disappear. I fought. I ran, and I hid.
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