Type: Normal Dream

I was in some busy courtyard. The ground was made of interlocking stone, and all of the surrounding buildings were old and crumbling.

I had a video camera and I was following around some woman. She was speaking of some documentary that seemed to be about student rights, or something similar. I held the camera near the ground, trying to get an interesting shot, filming as I rushed around the busy courtyard, weaving between all the people.

We finally got to the bottom of a small set of stairs in another part of the courtyard where she made her conclusion to the camera. Right after this, the tape in the camera just went up in a little poof of smoke. I told her, and suggested the only solution was to go back and pick up all of the prints that the camera had made (for some reason) of the frames as we filmed.

I turned around the ground of the courtyard was filled with pieces of paper, like photographs, of the stuff I had just been filming. I remember yelling something to the large crowd, and suddenly everyone was busy helping me pick up these pieces of paper -- I knew the order didn't matter.

By the end of picking them up, more and more people were giving them to me all torn and tattered, but I thought they'd still be salvageable. Looking at some of them, they looked very much like artistic photography and I was excited about what I could do with all of them.

Afterwards, a small crowd gathered and I was about to play them a song on an acoustic guitar I had...

Then my alarm went off and I woke up.

Clarity: 4 / 5    Lucidity: 2 / 5

Tags: camera, courtyard, crowd, guitar, paper, video

Type: Normal Dream

The screeching of the cart in front of me is almost more than I can stand; one wheel is severely crooked and is in desperate need of truing. The rest of the cart itself is a rusted heap, most likely pulled from one of those man-made roadside 'lagoons.' Inside the grocery store the shelves and walls are stacked high, much in the way factory wholesalers sell them. Employees in red vests swing from rope harnesses way upon high, dangling precariously as they restock the shelves and assist their fellows upon staggeringly tall ladders.

There's only one aisle.

None of the items are perceptible; they resemble only things that I have seen beforehand but never bought. They haven't got labels in a language I can understand, but the symbols are vibrant and harken back to commercials and billboards I've seen elsewhere. I'm moving too slowly for words. The hunger pangs in my stomach start disturbing the sounds of the checkout nearby, and I know that that's when its time I make a quick getaway. I hate grocery shopping on an empty stomach and if you've ever done it, you would probably agree with me whole-heartedly.

Rounding the corner a little quickly I smash into another person, who seems to be waiting in line. He seems angry, but just heaves a sigh and turns away from his cart. He's really sad, but when he rubs his face, his expression deepens. Lines begin appearing in his skin; he begins to rapidly age as frown and grimace lines start to mar his bearded countenance. He looks at me with eyes of an indeterminate colour; suffice to say, they are the colour of Heartache.

I make my amends by placing something in his hand, which resembles more of a paw than anything. I turn and walk to the end of the line and start again, but the line grows bigger and people keep pushing in front of me. I don't mind.
At least, I think I don't; the heat in my veins betrays me. Makes me believe otherwise. Makes me believe that, at any moment, I'll fly off the handle on the old woman whose taken my place ahead of me and that I wouldn't regret it. Instead I turn my attention to the racks on my right. There's a sale:

Intriguing. So I pick one up -- they aren't wrapped in any casing -- and start playing with it. Soon other people are, too.

On the small screen, there is a young woman peeling off her clothing. Aghast, I look casually around to see if anybody notices.
No one does. Simply because they're all captivated by the same pornographic image.

The woman has a tattoo on her back -- it's a cross.
When the camera zooms slowly in on her face, she tosses back a head of wild black curls, to reveal my 18 year old cousin.
I gag.

The resounding laughter from the micro-cam tenses the muscles in my hand, crushing the device into a mess of wires and tiny motherboards. The people who were attracted to the display are all looking at me now in shock, as the video still plays on the micro-cams that they're all holding.

The nearest object is a shopping cart full of items.
I snatch it fiercely, flipping it end over end into the crowd of people.
The next person to violate my space is the saddened man and when he does, my fist crosses his face. He breaks, splinters of flesh-coloured glass exploding from the impact through the air and across the floor.
I start running.

Past the checkouts, out the door, and into my cousin Marko's house. I slam the room door closed behind me. Marko is the older brother of my cousin on the micro-cam porno video, Shaylene.
His face is dark, grim. He raises a pulsing arm, pointing behind me to his sister's room. The lights are all off in his house, it's nighttime.
In front of Shaylene's door, that same laughter can be heard on the otherside. Red light pours through the cracks.

I start breaking down the door.
The ceiling begins to cave.



That's all there is.

Mood: angry

Clarity: 4 / 5    Lucidity: 3 / 5

Tags: eerie, groceries, laughter, pornography, twisted, video, violence