More Dreams

These dreams are just freaking me out, particulary one and two, detailed in this earlier entry; and six, detailed below. I'll probably have another messed up one tonight.

Four

The day is beautiful. Sunlight seems to pour in the windows of the grocery store like honey. My friends laugh amongst themselves as I grab a cereal bar from the shelves. I walk outside.

I am thrown to the ground. My hand turns in the dry clay, grabbing a dirty butter knife as my attacker draws his own blade. I punch him in the face, and he falls backwards unconscious.

I spin round to find his accomplice drawing a gun on me, as he sits in the drivers seat of an open-top convertible, which sits part-submerged in the earth. I somehow parry the gun with my knife, knocking it from his hand.

He was wearing a black fedora and a suit. He had it coming.

Suddenly, it is night. I am a small boy with a backpack running around a city somewhere in continental Europe. It's sometime in the 1930's, or early 40's. I run into a shop where some people are huddled. Some Nazis close the door, barricade it and throw petrol on the shop window. They set it on fire.

Somehow, I escape. I must not let them find me. I hear some coming, so I run into a nearby castle to evade them. I run down a long stone tunnel. I can hear their footsteps echoing behind me, and when I reach the end of the tunnel I can see their shadows move along the wall. I run up some stairs to find the main Nazi administrative complex for the area.

It's inside the castle. Dumb move. I'm cornered by two German women, and then I wake.

Five

Two developers of rival open source content management systems try to convince me to use their tools on the new Minds site I'm working on. One of the tools is WordPress, the other is imaginary. The light is similar to the start of Four.

I walk away. While I am away, they plot to kill me. The WordPress developer, who looks a lot like Jim Caviezel in the Thin Red Line (meaning it definitely isn't Matt), doesn't like the idea, but I get the impression he's still going to go through with it.

Six

I've just gotten married, and am looking forward to spending some time, for the most part horizontally, with my wife: a famous British pop singer. But her brother tells me that she's gone on tour, and won't be back for two weeks. I think to myself: who have I married? I'm horrified, and realise that this is just a marriage of convenience. I've married the wrong person. I've made a horrible mistake.