It started with shooting bees. Live bees, with a gun. Appearing one by one, in the sky. Aiming at them and making them disappear. Soon I was hitting the bees but they continued to come closer and closer. Now, I learn I had been squirting something on them that wasn’t making them fall down and die.
trigger, trigger, trigger, trigger, trigger. *buzz buzz buzz*
trigger, trigger, trigger, trigger, trigger! *buzz buzz buzz*
“Why didn’t that bee die!” I shouted to someone, and grabbed something simple like a cassette tape case. The bee had landed, and I crushed its wet body with the case, thinking about how this was going to have to be the very dangerously confrontational last step in the process from here on out. (I really hate flying things that sting.)
A house of tall, white cement walls. A feeling of hype, and a town meeting. I hear them through the walls, talking about how to handle a deadly situation that I thought might be killer bees. I was holding a can of poison. Even though they were talking about how no one was to do anything, I sprayed some bug killer in a few cracks and exited the building.
Then I was pushing the message button on our answering machine. It was my mother’s voice, talking about how I never seem to learn and need a stern talking to.
There was some kind of poison scare, after all. Can’t remember how I decided this. They thought it might be in the water. I’m somewhere on the water, asking my brother to push out the green, foamy raft he’d used to get to shore. He does, and I am on the sand.
Now the sky is dark, and I’m running through a house I thought was mine, in the dream. I can see now that it was a lot different. We are deciding what to keep, and what to leave behind. Mother and Chris are packing and come into my room where I have been saying goodbye to different stuffed animals. I pick up a strange, orange penguin/lion mutated toy that I “strangely” do not recognize.
“Goodbye, Care Bear Cousin I never got to know,” I said, regretfully. And was very sad. Objects were heavy with sentimental value, and I spotted my white and blue Fluppy dog.
“This has to go,” I said, and put it in the box despite the fact that it was a toy. “It’s special, it was one of Nick’s favorite toys. He let me have it because I wanted it.” (back story: that is the one piece of 80’s nostalgia that I have ever wanted to find, and I found it in Nick’s house. He gave it to me. He is an era younger than I, and does not remember the cartoon character or share the same memories with the item. He let me have it. But having it makes me feel guilty, sometimes.)
It was as though each thing I observed held the memories, themselves. I knew that what I was leaving, might be gone forever. A storm was coming that turned into An End Of the World. We had to pack up and leave immediately.
Now it was starting to rain, and I was off where my dad was preparing. Loading, errands, some kind of important things. The van was full of things my mother had packed and I was shouting at him to move as fast as he could. He seemed a little annoyed by my shouting. I was becoming hysterical. I think winds were whipping through, ripping off the plains and valleys like tablecloths. Somewhere I’ve lost sequence for, is an overhead shot of the land rippling and collapsing on gigantic, rising rolls as though it was all on a bedsheet someone was putting on the world… only everything was being destroyed.
But it didn’t work out that way. We were a population, running. A rumbling sound? An order from a leader, and we knew that the acres where we stood was about to be hit with….something. My mind has a memory of a giant wave. Other times it is like the land instantly blew up. The rest of the dream consisted of all of us, running to dodge the explosions of area – as though it was a supernatural force that was only demolishing chunks at a time. So, what do you do? You weave in and out of those chunks.
I kept looking back and calling someone’s name. I was constantly reaching back in a crowd’s stampede until he was with me. Every time I lost him, my brain reminded me of the priority to save myself, but I could never go on, ahead.
At one point we were looking back at an evacuated area, and it was beautiful. The ground was like a hardwood stage floor, and the backdrop was a gorgeous pink with nebulus-looking clouds. I was standing on a time bomb, frozen and looking into a sky that was in the middle of rearranging the planet. For a hypnotized moment, I didn’t want to run anymore. The sense of being an ant under a boot heel was overwhelming and exciting.
“Woah,” he said, looking into the direction the end of the world was coming from.
I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, and then we started running like bitches.
What happens if we reach a canyon or something, I wondered.
We would reach gigantic tents. There had to have been several hundred of us. We would rest at tables. Holding onto that person’s hand, I ran around looking for my family – worried they were wondering if I hadn’t made it, that time — and I found them. Dressed well. Looking happy. Glad to see me.
Then an announcement came over, about ranks and tasks. I notice some people are dressed in robes. “And the common people….” (some kind of duty I can’t remember, but everyone around me sighed with relief and said things like, “Oh. That’s easy!” I was glad that we weren’t being treated like suicide bombers or slaves in whatever structure was being assembled.)
I walk up a hill and a drug dealer is standing at the top with a torch. His face is in shock, and he informs us that we need to change direction immediately – that we’ve been approaching destruction.
“You gotta believe me! I heard the rumbles!” shouted the young man who has deceived my brother, time and time again.
And so, we’re running. We are a herd. I can see water dripping down from a line of trees, and things tearing up, behind me. I think about my partner, seeing me so far up ahead, and think about how stupid he is. He would probably answer “no hard feelings” at having been left, behind. My steps lose gravity and I leap up onto a barn roof, effortlessly.
Somehow, I have lost everyone else and am standing before a mountainside. There are several red ladders going straight up, and the men in red and white robes are making their way up to what I detect is “a safe height.” And I suddenly realize… we had been divided and misdirected so that the elite could better maneuver and escape destruction.
I curse the drug dealer’s name, and it echoes. Then I climb one of the ladders and start throwing wizard-looking old men to their death.
But then something strange, happens. The mountain begins to collapse.
Now I am reading a book with green and black pages. It goes like this:
Going back and cutting through the lock on our front gate, it wasn’t the same, being home…
I was under the impression that my father had lost an arm. That the wrath had subsided. That nothing had ever descended upon our house and smashed it. Then I read more,
“But seeing her and having to watch at the short distance she had always waited…” There was the printed image – a circle icon with a black hand, open palm. “…I honestly thought my heart was going to stop beating.”
Oh my god, me? I died? Oh my god, I die. This is so fucking sad, I’m thinking, nose tingling as I’m walking with this book in my hands. I was with a crowd – don’t know what we were doing – but it felt like we had to keep moving. I can’t believe it, I hate this!
I woke myself up, starting to cry. I am so glad that shit didn’t happen, that words cannot express.