Dreams. Gotta love 'm

Song of the day: “Love 4 fun” by Enrique Iglesias. Such a cheery song. Definitely one of the better ones to have on dreary days where the sun barely shows itself. *sigh*

For the most part we’ve just been doing busywork, so let’s see if we can do something else entirely, okay? Might as well break the habit of daily reports since there really isn’t much to say other than the fact that today I fixed up a glass and wood cupboard for the kitchen. I should be able to hang it come morning, but since that will be aaar—ehm grocery shopping day I’m not holding my breath.

There was cleaning, gardening (which I loved, thank you very much. We had wonderful bread with fresh veggies from the yard. Yay) and carpentry, since we’ve been building a big chest of drawers to put in the carport. There’ll be storage aplenty. Hah.

So, different…Gawd. I still have that rather awesome (somewhat gory) dream somewhere. Let me just look that up, okay?

Right, here it is.

Sunset: On the horizon the last sliver of sunlight disappears as I stand on the lonely hill top, overlooking what appears to be an abandoned city. It isn’t. I know this for certain, even though the streets look deserted and no traffic comes or goes on the big highways leading there.
Lights shimmer mysteriously, and I step into the dilapidated Jeep Wrangler I was leaning against. The tires are bold, the paint is chipped and rusted in places, but it is mine, and my sole means of transportation.
The engine rumbles and sputters at the same time, repairs a long forgotten task in my memory as I steer the vehicle onto the gutted road that leads down the slope to the city.
I have a purpose for going to the city, and though I am not entirely sure what it is, I tighten my hands around the wheel with determination until the knuckles turn white. Fear is a cold fist in the center of my gut. On the seat beside me lies a sawed off shotgun, the box of bullets open, scattering a handful of them on the seat.
Black traffic-lights loom ahead as I approach the city limits. No movement is noticeable, but as I gradually come closer a distant howl reaches me through the slitted side window. The siren is familiar to me. It sounds like the one I remember from the monthly alarm drills, and as I draw closer and closer it becomes only louder. Louder. And louder still, hurting my ears.
Fear increases, but I deliberately push me foot down on the gas and speed down the uneven streets that could do with a new layer of asphalt. Heck, they’d do well with two, in fact.
A glance down shows that I am wearing faded and dirty jeans over army boots that are at least a size too big. On my arms blue checkered flannel has been rolled up to my elbows, showing on the inside of my lower arm a lethal looking dagger. It has been strapped to my wrist and several inches up with thin leather straps. Snug, but not uncomfortably so.
The engine bangs, making me wince, but it continues on as I head deeper into this familiar and yet completely alien city. Skyscrapers tower high into the air, empty skeletons of metal and glass, while storefronts and domiciles appear gutted and desolate by the side of the street.
I am driving east I know in some distant part of my mind, though how I know as much during the night, I am not entirely sure.
Up ahead there’s a sudden flash of movement. Whether a response to the thundering engine, or simple coincidence, I don’t know, but rather than risk heading towards it, I yank the wheel to the left. The engines peel alarmingly with the sudden change in course, but I don’t care as I head for the highest building, visible between the other high rises on either side of the street.
Why I fear the movement I saw, or why I know why I am supposed to head for that highest building, I don’t know, but I question neither as I push down the pedal and continue on my way.
The brakes squeal when I finally reach my destination. The engine almost stalls, but sputters and continues to live seconds before I grab the shotgun and hop out of the Jeep.
The siren is even louder here, it’s screech as grating to me as nails on a school board. There is an sense of impending disaster to it that pushes me to more speed than I thought possible. Time is running out. Fast. And if I do not find what I came for, my failure will be deadly.
My boots slap noisily on the dirt-covered pavement. My goal appears to be a bullet-hole riddled cinema located right beside the gigantic skyscraper.
With single-minded purpose I run to the cinema, grapple almost desperate for the heavy-duty flashlight dangling from the utility-like belt around my waist. The thing blinks on and off twice and then shines into the gaping foyer (once very grand with red velvet and inlaid gold) of the cinema. With the light slashing a way into the darkness, the shotgun a reassuring weight in my right hand, I dash into the building.
Out of breath, I reach the second landing that leads to theater number two, the stairs behind me almost ridiculously long as I turn full circle to make sure that no trap lays in wait for me.
Nothing. All is quiet except for a small family of rats scurrying into a hole beneath what used to be a luxurious refreshment stand.
Satisfied for now, I turn towards the entrance of number two and yank the door open. It squeaks noisily, making the hair in my nape stand on end, while goosebumps break out all over my body. Almost certain that this noise will have alerted some unseen enemy, I turn, aim the shotgun at the spot behind me where I’m sure a hideous monster is about to pounce. Nothing.
I am still alone, and in some peculiar way this might be even more frightening than a dangerous creature to fight against.
Warily I step through the door, going steadily backwards into the even darker theater.
In here the siren is no longer audible I am pleased to note, and yet it does not reassure me since I know that it is nothing more than a warning of something far worse to come.
“Billy!” I call the name softly, suddenly quite aware of my purpose for being there.
Billy. A young boy I met just days ago out in the country while I scavenged for supplies. He’s a tiny kid, springy hair the color of flax that should have been washed weeks ago and yet wasn’t. Dirty rags cover his skinny body…or at least they did when I first saw him, almost three days past.
“Billy! Where are you,” I try again. There is a skittering noise to the left of the big hall, filled with seats on the sloping incline. There is a distinct scent of garbage and mold in the room and overhead black fabric that once covered the ceiling in elegant folds bulges down eerily.
“Come on, Billy. We have to go!” Still nothing. I am about to give up on the big space when something, a whimper maybe draws my attention to the front where the movie screen used to be.
I aim my flashlight and shotgun at it simultaneously, and notice the pile of debris and fabric before catching the actual movement.
“Billy!” I see his skinny pale arm stick out at an odd angle and dash forward.
There on the dais he is lying. Pieces of carpet, plastic and God knows what else form some sort of nest in which he lays curled up like a fetus.
“Gawd. Billy. Are you okay. Come on, kid. Talk to me.” I place the shotgun carefully on the dais and push the materials aside to see if Billy is still alive. His lips are blue, big dark shadows cradle his eyes and his deadly white skin is sheened with perspiration. He is alive though, the weak pulse I find in his throat tells me as much.
When he turns out to be unresponsive to my prodding, I gnaw my lip in consideration for just a moment. Then, I grab the shotgun and swing it over my shoulder on the sling that is attached to it. Next, I look around in search of something I can wrap the boy in. In the end I settle on a piece of the bulging satiny fabric suspended from the ceiling. It is thin, but at least my dagger slices through it easily. Within just a few minutes I have Billy wrapped tightly within the fabric and wedge the flashlight under it so it will shine in front me when I lift him into my arms.
He is less heavy than I had anticipating and within no time whatsoever, I am heading back up to the entrance of the theater. I make short work of crossing to the stairs and heading down them. The siren outside is still screeching, and by the time I reach the main entrance, it is once again deafening. I take a final deep breath and head out into the dark street.
The flashlight on Billy’s stomach hobbles with every step I take, but stays in place. It casts a straight line in front of me, and until I reach the Wrangler, I don’t notice what is amiss until I reach it. The engine. It is not running anymore. Anxiety peaks in my gut, and I look around warily, taking the time to do a slow 360 with the light bobbing over the gaping black storefronts all around me.
I glance back at the car, see that the keys are missing. Who would do that at a time like this and not just take the car to flee? I wonder, moistening my lips and wondering what to do now. Running with Billy in my hands would do nothing. I can’t possibly get to safety in time before it hits. Not by foot.
Billy moans pitifully, and I look down at him knowing that there is only one thing to do, only one chance at survival.
Ground zero: We must get closer. Two hundred meters away from it, in fact. It is our only chance. Why, or how I know this, I’m not sure.
Taking a deep breath, I pull Billy closer and head away from the useless Jeep. Time is ticking. An actual tick tock inside my head that seems to speed up rapidly, and yet remains eerily insistent.
I know where I have to go. The exact location that will put me on the spot where Billy and I are most likely to survive. Whether I have the time to get there, remains to be seen.
Me feet fly over the pavement. I skip around debris and whatnot on my way to a marketplace at the end of the street. In my head I can see the map I had studied earlier. Less than three blocks, maybe two. The siren stops suddenly, and so does my heart, for just a fraction of a second. I am so startled I stumble and almost fall. But then I catch myself and push myself even harder.
In the distance, over the eerily hushed silence I hear a sound that is far more frightening than the siren on itself had been.
An engine. It’s roar so very powerful that it reverberated right to the very core of me.
One more block.
My side stitches, my feet pound on while my muscles scream and my lungs complain with noisy puffs.
Closer and closer the sound comes, and behind the city skyline I can see light replace the black starlit canopy overhead.
Half a block.
The light is bright now, the rumbling sound deafening as something big thunders over the roofs and casts dancing shadows around me. Debris rain down on me and Billy, but I continue on, faster still, if at all possible.
Twenty feet.
There. Right up ahead, a narrow alley looms at where I know we have our one and only chance. Just as the light dims and the earth beneath my feet tilts dangerously, I clasp Billy close to my chest and dive into the alley.
We tumble into it, my shoulder and side taking the worst of the fall when a mighty roar rips through the night. Air compresses, gets sucked away as our roll comes to an abrupt halt in the corner of the alley.
Then it happens. A massive boom followed by a blinding flash seconds that has me curl around Billy as best I can.
The heat hits me then. Searing, burning over my back like an unbearable weight. I am screaming, but no sound comes out, as the wave after wave of the massive explosion tumbles through the city and…I wake up.

Yeah, I know. I always wake up at the weirdest moments, don’t I? *sigh* Would you believe when I tell you that my back was incredibly hot after that dream. Well. No helping for it, I guess. Even in dreams my imagination takes certain liberties. Hah.
Definitely shrink material, I'm thinking...or I saw way too many disaster movies, eh?

Well, that’ll be it for today, won’t it. I’ve got the last bit of the edit to do, and considering my stomach is upset again (I hate it when that happens) and I lost my meal just a couple of hours ago, I better get to it fast. I, for one, wouldn’t mind an early night.