How not to raid a nightclub

It was like Jurassic Park, but with monkeys, and I dangled at the top of a giant tree, more than a hundred feet from the grassy fields of earth, desperately holding on and trying to help a monkey that had been bundled in plastic wrap and tied to the trunk. He was screeching and crying. I, myself was terrified of falling or of my pursuers finding me and pounding the living shit out of me. I can’t even remember why they wanted me. I guess it was because I was in some place I wasn’t supposed to be, that was usually how it went. Hadn’t I paid to get in? All I knew for sure was that I had to get that monkey. The reason was still lost, though I hated anything being upset.

Holding on with one hand and stretching out with the other I managed to grab the plastic and pull it bit by bit, closer and closer to me, until I could yank the whole body onto the platform just below me. No sooner was it safe than I heard voices and gunfire from below. The bouncers shot ammo at me like they were after the A-Team. I ran along platforms and around tree tops, looking for cover and escape. I couldn’t find any and cowered in a corner made of three close knit tree trucks. Hands over my face, I still felt the world change, darker, heavier. I opened my eyes and I was in a nightclub corridor. Now the bouncers made more sense. Before I could even get to my feet, one stood before me, towering over me, and about to slam both his fists. I slipped under his legs like the floor was ice and darted through the crowd on the dance floor. Arms and legs hindered me like twisting vines of thorny bushes. At least the bouncers wouldn’t fire on me in a crowd. This wasn’t an 80s action movie with a gratuitous 18 rating. There was another corridor on the opposite side and I slipped down it, disturbing a few canoodling couples, and down there was the exit. I ran out into the evening air onto a plaza that looked like a neon scene from Bladerunner. People were smoking, chatting, eating from a snack cart on the corner. One of those dancing fountains broke the murmur of chatter and hit a young skateboarder too slow. I ran to my friend’s house and arrived in an instant.

At that house there were friends from work and friends from home, I didn’t even know whose house it was, but I knew I was safe and that was all that mattered. In impatient breaths I told them about what I had seen, that there was a gigantic wildlife reserve inside a nightclub, owned by some shady individuals who never took off their sunglasses, and they had animals in there being tortured. One of my friends, Simon, insisted on going there right away, his face bright red. I tried to tell him about the big guys with guns. He didn’t listen. So I followed him uselessly.

Outside the club, I ran into someone else I knew, but didn’t. I swear I had never seen him before. In the dream I had the sense that I had. We sat outside the club talking while my friend Simon went inside. We chatted for a long time, me sat on the small wall outside the building and him, dressed in a skeezy leather jacket and a 50s greaser hairdo,  occasionally standing up to stretch and look around.

While talking to him, we were approached by a young woman, similar age to me and it turned out to be Rina, the cute-as-hell drummer from my favorite band, SCANDAL. I suddenly launched into a practiced speech about how much I adored her, but I had lost the ability to make words. I wanted to thank her for inspiring so many girls, for her insistence at speaking more to the crowd of us after the 3/11 earthquake and so much more. I couldn’t get the words out, and my friend was laughing at me making a fool of myself. “Who is this?” he asked, completely clueless, yet that’s how I expect people to be when you know a band that is too good to appear in charts and win awards. I explained to him all the brilliant things SCANDAL had done, and I found it much easier to talk about Rina indirectly. She was giggling at my silliness too and we enjoyed talking together – she used English as well, which is odd because I know she can’t speak it in real life very well. Some happiness.

However, as we were talking, police cars pulled up and the occupants rushed inside the nightclub. I suddenly became worried about Simon. Moments later, he was walked out of the nightclub in handcuffs int he centre of a huddle, quietly fuming at the outrage. I had to say goodbye to Rina and my friend, to go and see what I could do. I heard chatter from the officers that Simon had tried to set fire to the nightclub, endangering everyone and the animals. I was mostly worried about him losing his job.

So there you have it, proof that dreams have no traditional plot arc. I went from caring most about the animals to caring about my friend’s job only. What a bitch….

Have any interesting dreams lately? Let me know below or find me on Twitter.

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