I was staring out a large window, feeling like I was in my own house. The glass was wet and warping a view of trees that I was kind of lost in. Suddenly the lawn darkened over like an eclipse, and storm clouds were passing overheard at an alarming rate; it was as though the sky was on fast forward. I immediately recognized the danger of such high winds and yelled something at my dad about needing to go into the basement.
When I turned around, I was in his mother’s kitchen, and it felt like the entire house started to spin. None of the televisions were playing the news – they were all some goddamn old sitcoms or Gone With The Wind – this made me angry and I yelled some more. When I fiddled with a tiny tv on the counter, I watched numbers go something like: 2, 6, 8, 4, 10, 20 – and I said, “What happened to channel 12! I can’t get it!” Dad stepped in and turned knobs until a black and white screen had the little “severe something warning” at the bottom left hand corner.
Suddenly we were on our hands and knees, and it was so difficult to crawl over to the basement door that my reality sensors weren’t all checking out – there was brief consideration of being in a dream. With one-track panic and the observation that I could clearly see the carpet in front of me (I remember reaching out and grabbing objects – testing if I could feel them = being in reality) my mind plunged back into thinking everything was happening.
I believe such concentration on the floor was what overcame the typical motionlessness of being in a dream when you’re trying to get away. I was successfully staying balanced on what felt like a merry-go-round and was making my way across the room just fine – and that’s all I remember.
When I woke up, the image of dark, smoky rain clouds racing over treetops was still terrifying. It intrigues me, that my brain recreated texture/feel –that something happened upstairs when I was grabbing at the objects around me.
Later on, I was standing before some kind of council of Evil. Looked like funeral parlors I’ve been to – low ceiling, red commercial carpet. A lot of parts are missing from this segment, unfortunately. I faintly remember a series of questions, maybe some tasks. Perhaps feeling like being under review. It was some kind of supernatural deal, although the men around me – men in suits apparently on watch – a sitting crowd to my left and right – 2 head-looking guys ahead of me – seemed human.
All I remember is the ending, when it was finally time to kill me. One baldie, sitting in something like a throne or a chair on the left, was holding what kind of looked like a cross between an Arabian sword and a spade. There was a dude to his left – my right, sitting down, too. I was confused, still had no idea what was going on, but I was pretty sure the point was to take away my life.
I think I asked, “May I ask a question before you proceed?” and the bald guy took a moment before nodding. I figured I’d answer a question that would answer the initial “are you going to kill me”, “Which way am I going, after this?”(Into which room, next? Up to heaven, down to hell, over somewhere else entirely? I have no idea why I worded it like that. I think I wanted to know what state was approaching – consciousness/non/something different.)
I had been very agreeable, I know. I’d made an effort to seem collected, fearing that an outburst would get my head chopped off. They looked regretful to inform me what was feeling like, “We’re putting you in hell.” But instead of a clear answer, I got weirdness.
“For the past 23 years, we’ve had rain and terrible hail.” (which is odd, because hell is hot and rain would be nice)
I told them I hadn’t known. Whenever I had done something “good”, this – whatever – Population? – had suffered for it. That’s why they needed to kill me. It was like Peter Pan’s fairy rule, only for demons, or something.
“One more thought,” I offered. “Why are you just killing us off when you have the ultimate power to take away life? You can scare people into doing whatever you need! Imagine how well someone can serve you and how much they can accomplish, when they’re determined to stay alive? I mean, I obviously want to stay alive. If no one’s going back and changing behavior, you’re just going to have to keep killing everyone.”
I couldn’t believe it – hands went under chins, pulling at goatees, like they’d never considered this, before. Hadn’t it sounded pretty fucking smart! Even more unbelievably, … it was like everyone started to go away. People were getting up and leaving!
I put my hands out like, “What’s going on?!?” and the bald guy, now rather short when standing, looked up at me and kind of patted my arm before exiting.
I wonder if he’ll get back in touch.