Occurred: 2021 Dec 20 (Monday morning)
The nightclub survivors stumble out through the main doors, into the glistening fresh air outside, gulping down the normality. We help some of those who can't walk, the injured. The first group of survivors went to the concrete steps, a few metres away from a streetlamp, which illuminates them as they slump onto the floor, exhausted.
Our group goes to the corner of the nightclub, where there's a dark alley. Some of them flee around that corner and retreat to the gate that blocks their path, and remain there, checking themselves over. They settle down, resting. Help may or may not be coming. It was best we didn't call anyone, until we knew if we were safe from ourselves.
Early in the night, I had seen a beautiful dancer; black hair, a frilly dress. Whatever nicety she initially brought was gone now. Her Dad had also been at the club, and he helped her down into the dark alley, and they both sat on the floor in the shade.
I sat in the light where there was a little more breeze, and noticed the blood and black stains on my skin, which I wiped off my arm, onto my trousers. I rested my head back on the wall that was behind me, ready to fall to sleep.
But the pretty girl was restless. Her Dad quietly tried to shush her. She sat upright and wretched, leaned forward with her mouth open. A dangling insect came out, and she plucked it away. In a short space of time, another one came. Her Dad looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and I turned away.
The other group of survivors had quietened down. Some of them were watching us - trying to detect if we had any of the infected amongst us. Likewise, I spied on them. They seemed peaceful. Our group also seemed peaceful. It was best to keep everyone apart, so if anything happened, only half of us would get into another fight.
She made a noise, and I looked back. Her previously-well-kept straight hair was matted, and she wretched a bit more. This time she had to coach out the long, glistening insect from her throat. It was ten centimetres long, with many legs. Despite appearances, I knew it was a snake. She gasped a little "ugh" as it came out, and dropped it to the floor. Her Dad reassured her. If she was strong, she'd get through it.
The air was cold and my legs were tired. The moon was out. The doors of the nightclub were still ajar, but all of the lights were off inside. They would probably have to bulldozer the place.
She reached up and grabbed another snake-with-many-legs. She had to straighten her back to get it out, pulling it. There was a trick to it. If she pulled too fast, it would break in half. Too slow, and she'd not get any rest before the next one came.
It was as long as her arm. The weighty thing fell to the floor.
"Fuck", she said, with urgency, but still keeping her voice under her breath.
Another one came, the same size as the previous one. She had to get them out. If she was too slow, they would build up in her tummy. It got stuck for a moment. Her Dad wasn't helping any more. He was scared, and had shuffled away. She was on her own. She got it out.
"Fuck", she said, quite loudly.
No-one else seemed to be noticing her, except me. They were shying away from it, pretending they didn't know.
I was trying to work out what these things meant, that were inside her. They were harmless when out. They were biding their time, knowing that all they had to do was carry on, and they would over come her. I imagined her saying fuck as the dream drew to a close; her face had gone much whiter than it used to be, and in between episodes, just for those few seconds of respite she got, her arms would drop limp, her hands laying upwards on the ground. Again, a pair of black bristly antenna popped out, and the next one started. I was too beat-up to do anything, and I adjusted my position slightly so my back was turned towards them, ready to fall down to the ground in sleep. Someone else would have to deal with it.
There are many books available, more or less in dictionary format, that attempt to tell you what individual elements of dreams might mean. They're useless, although by drawing upon common human experiences, they sometimes sound about right if you share the general culture of the author. It's still best to count them as speculative waffle.
For more, see:
Here's what some my books say about some elements from this dream - drawing upon common human experiences, they sometimes sound about right if you share the general culture of the author.
“Centipede. To see centipedes signifies ill luck and misfortune by unknown enemies.
Exhausted. To dream you are exhausted from some violent exercise or passion is indicative that a chance in your disposition will shortly take place. You will become more accustomed to hard work, and become used to a great deal of worry.”
"Classic 1000 Dreams, the" by Graham Kitchen (1991)1