Thursday, November 21, 2013

Thankful for Thursday

Howdy! Today I am thankful for imagination. I know that sounds very new-agey, but seriously, where would we be without it? I love the fact that I can retreat into the recesses of my mind late at night, and tell myself stories until I fall asleep. Sometimes there are narrations that go along with these stories, but most of the time they are spin-offs of books, movies, or television shows. I imagine different scenarios, different characters, characters I would love to portray. It's interesting to imagine the reactions, the dialogue, and the emotions.
I had a dream the other night. I was in the backseat of a small car with my family, and it was 1945, although how I knew this latter fact I could not explain. I suppose it is just one of those instances in a dream where you simply know something, like you know the sky is red for a reason, or that gravity does not affect you when you jump. In my dream, the sky was pale grey but mostly hidden by mocha-colored clouds. We were driving on a bridge very high up, supported by cement beams. And... I knew something... something was going to happen in a moment. From my window I could see over the railing to the dark grey waters below, the crests of the waves turning white and frothy. Someone, my father or my brother, was speaking, when suddenly the car swerved, as if we were trying to avoid hitting something in the middle of the road. I remember this next part quite vaguely, but one thing that stands out is that I was not afraid when the car went over the ledge, plummeting toward the ocean below. The impact did not hurt, surprisingly, and no one was injured, although my mom was a bit rattled. Since the windows had been down, the four of us were able to shimmy out. Now, the next part is cloudy; I don't really recall how it happened, but suffice to say we somehow ended up in this tunnel that descended deep into the water. It led to a kind of submarine, and when we were at the door, someone opened it from the inside and we all went spilling in, water rushing behind us. We were in this large, metal room, and I seriously thought of a submarine, or maybe Nautilus from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, only less pretty, more industrial looking. It was made of dark metal, that was the most prominent detail. There were some people around, up above on a ramp that led to the "dumping area," where we were, or on higher levels with railings. I realized then that people must have been allowed in here all the time, because the ones milling about paid us no mind, although the ones on the ramp showed a little interest. No one came to greet us, but I instantly felt that we were welcome, like this was our home as much as anyone else's. Pulling myself out of the dumping area, I was fascinated with all the portholes and staircases that led to places unknown. Choosing one at random, I ducked in, temporarily forgetting my family but knowing in my heart they would be safe. Inside the door I had chosen, the entire room was pink, and it wasn't an ordinary room. It reminded me of the play areas you see in McDonald's and Chick-fil-a, where you climb one platform after the other in a kind of spiral pattern. But even though the platforms were halfway up the wall, the ceilings were quite low, so I almost had to crawl on my stomach to reach the next one. Everything was carpeted... pink carpet. But it was nice a soft. As I climbed I noticed certain things, like how each platform was almost its own room; some had dressers, others had mirrors and toy chests and closets. I kept climbing. Eventually I stumbled into a much larger room, still decked out in pink walls, but the d├ęcor deviated from the color. There was a small bathroom (only a shower occupied the space) and a queen-size bed took up the rest of it. A boy was asleep there, his blankets tangled up in his legs as if he'd been running in his dreams. He woke up when I drew near, and for a moment his eyes widened in panic. They were blue and familiar, golden brown hair tousled carelessly atop an angular face. But when I quickly darted for the next platform, he didn't try and stop me, or cry for help, but merely laid back down, watching until I was out of sight. Suddenly an alarm went off, exactly like what you would hear during WWII if an airstrike were spotted. We had been discovered. That could be the only meaning of the alarm. All around I could hear the panic rising, feet stumbling over each other like an uneven drumroll. As I climbed, I came to another bedroom, this one harboring two sleeping girls. I hated to wake them, but we had been discovered. There was nothing else to do. They awoke pleasantly enough, and regarded the alarm as if it were their mother calling that breakfast was ready. There was a large metal door on the one wall. I opened it and found myself on the ramp overlooking the dumping area. People were scrambling, but for what I could not decipher. The hatch keeping the water out swung open and a flood of water rushed in, carrying on its waves a few bewildered people. I didn't know where my family was, but I knew the Nazis were coming for us; they had somehow discovered our Nautilus.
What would become of the ship and its passengers can only be theorized. My dream ended in the dumping area. But what a dream it was!

1 comment:

  1. You, my dear, have a fantastic imagination. There are so many elements in your dream that would make a compelling story! I loved the imagery of the sleeping children. You could utilize time travel back to WWII . . . or perhaps an alternate reality where the Nazis won WWII as in Philip K. Dick's "The Man in the High Castle". Interesting post.