I was a guard, guarding…something, on a mountain side. I wore a robe, like the unnamed character in the computer game Journey.
A fellow robed man began climbing the mountain. He stepped onto the parallel layers that the comprised the mountain. These layers looked like pastry, and had spots of brown like spills of chocolate (I’d gone to bed hungry). They depressed gently with each footstep. I expected them to play musical notes, but they didn’t.
As the man reached a specific point, three blue lights triangulated on him. He froze. I was pointing one of them, and quickly lowered this deadly beam, as I’d decided he wasn’t dangerous. Some US states were responsible for one of the beams. I called out to someone I couldn’t see. They responded with the state names (which I can’t remember) and their light switched off. One beam remained. The person behind that called out that they were from Canada. I said the man was safe. The light went off.
I teamed up with a friend of mine (who’s a policeman) to steal a bag of valuable batteries from someone important who was visiting Glasgow. In a way I can’t remember, we succeeded, and rushed off through the city. I may have fought zombies.
A large box projected photos of faces onto a screen. I met Daryl from the Walking Dead and helped him open the projector and take an enormous slide out.
My accomplice and I were almost home free. The police were a few hundred-feet behind us, but hadn’t spotted us yet. I arrived at Central Station, but couldn’t see on the board the train that would take me home. I thought we should get on any train just to get away, but I couldn’t decide which one. Frozen with indecision, I gave up and headed back into town to hide in a doorway. We were caught within seconds. A decision on our punishment was quickly made. Three options were written on a board. Two involved jail time. Thankfully, the third—community service—was chosen. My policeman friend didn’t even lose his job. Then the relief wore off, and I was pretty pissed that I’d lose my weekends to thousands of hours of community service.
My dreams may be getting weirder.
I was skydiving in Nepal. I landed near a wall and looked to my left to see a chap lying on his stomach. The wall collapsed, trapping us both. I awoke 150 years later to find that me and the man had been saved by a robotic supreme-being. It had an enormous head and glowing green eyes.
I had won the Nepalese lottery (the amount being the $640 million won in the American lottery a few days ago in real-life). But someone tampered with my ticket and I couldn’t claim. The only way to get my money was to make a fake ticket, which I could only do in a newsagents.
So I paraglided into a newsagents (in Nepal, shops have no roofs). But by this time the ticket tamperers were legion and I was again interfered with. The same thing happened in the next shop. All the newsagents were in a line running downhill. So if I failed in one, I’d run out the door and glide into the next. Again and again.
I was Kiefer Sutherland (probably in his role in his new show, Touch). A friend was robbing a hotel and asked if I’d like to help. I was desperate for money, so I did. In the hotel I found some money stashed in a hall. Then I spotted the police through the front window. I ran into the back garden (which was my real-life back garden) to see more police on the other side of the fence. I had a brainwave: if I lie on the grass with my hood up they won’t see me. Even in a dream that doesn’t work; they caught me immediately.
I got out on bail, though, and went into town. The council had softened the ground stones so people could bounce like Mario. I thoroughly enjoyed this, performing mid-air kicks to take my mind off my legal problems. I went into a jewellers. While looking at a jewel-encrusted pistol in a case, a woman beside me banged her daughter’s head off the glass for a laugh, and the glass shattered. A man ran up, grabbed the pistol inside the case and pointed it at me. He knew I was a robber and thought I deserved to die.
I didn’t die (I don’t know what happened). The police immediately dropped their case against me (this man’s gun charge somehow instantly cancelled out my robbery one). Free, I bounced off down the street to buy some CDs
I was a burglar. I’d committed many robberies, though I couldn’t recall any. I was on one particular job (which was in my old street, if not my former flat) while my girlfriend waited in the getaway car. I was angered by the lack of cash in the house, ranting and raving. These rants, and my later swagger, were somehow reminiscent of Joe Pesci in Goodfellas, I understood at the time. Yet there was also a likeness to the film Public Enemies. Despite this all taking place in the present day.
I had a brilliant idea. I would steal boxes of Cook’s Matches. Apparently the matches go for £1 each on the black market (who knew?). I stuck two boxes in my coat pockets and prepared to leave.
The whole time I’d been comfortable with evading the law. This was due to a human teleport system I’d cleverly nicknamed Human Dropbox. I realise that the name doesn’t really make sense (Dropbox clones the item, not transfers it). If the popo came to get me, the system would transport me out of the flat and into an empty bin on the other side of the street. There I’d either wait til the cops left or, if I was bold, sneak out and drive off and hope they didn’t notice. I don’t know why I could only teleport into a bin. This was a dream after all.
I didn’t need Dropbox anyway, and swaggered downstairs and into the car. As my accomplice started to drive, a family pulled up on the other side of the road. Two girls burst out of the car and ran towards us. As we drove slowly one smacked into the front of the car and rolled up the windscreen. Next, the girl sat in the road crying while her sister sat stunned behind her. We edged the car towards them, then realised that there was a third sister who’d somehow got trapped under our car. She was free now and was also crying. And then the dream ended.
I went to a pub, as some guy I knew from a long time ago had organised a reunion. There was a girl there with a leopard-print hat. I woke up the next morning, still sitting in a booth in the bar. Everyone else had gone. I looked under piles of jackets for my phone. There were loads of house phones but I couldn’t find my mobile. I went to the bathroom for a shave while wearing an afro wig. Outside the window there was a bridge, and runners in the New York Marathon were crossing it. I was in New York you see. One ran right into the pub, which had become a house. There was no front door. Then I realised why I was there. I was a retired assassin. In an old Hollywoodian cliché, I was being forced out of retirement to do one last job. Which turned out to be at least two. The party organiser had brought me here as he had captured some dodgy looking, Eastern European types. He needed them shot, and wasn’t willing to do so himself. I knew that something bad might happen to my family if I didn’t commit the murders, though what it would be was never explained. Ultimately I just really wanted my phone back. I shot the first fella, and was about to cap the second when…I don’t know, either the dream ended or I woke up.
I spot a falling star and, understandably, decide to chase it. It falls in a park. I follow it, but the park is frozen and I slide and fall over. I see 2 people from a photo taken in 1991. They are pushing a trolley through the park. As they get closer, the trolley turns into a Cadillac. It’s full of people, some dressed as Prohibition-era gangsters. We’re all outside my house, in a street I don’t recognise in the real world. I shout upstairs to tell people that versions of themselves from the past have turned up. They don’t care because it’s too early and they don’t want to get out of bed.