Just A Weird Dream I Had.

I don't dream very often, but when I do I remember them vividly. Most of them have strong emotions tied to them, primarily fear. I don't know if that's a normal thing, or a sane thing, but it happens anyway.

There isn’t much I remember about the dream. Only that it keeps coming back to me, not when I sleep, but my mind always seems to return to it when I feel low or on the verge of crying because of depressing stories. I don’t remember much, but I’ll try my best to describe it.

I can’t remember the beginning, but I remember being in a bar on the edge of a cliff. Myself and a friend, the face was blurred, but they wore a yellow tank top that complimented their dark skin and wore faded red jean shorts. They were more relaxed at the bar than I was, resting the palms of her hands on the edge of the bar stool as she slouched forward. We sat around a light brown table on the side of the bar, a ways from the dark mahogany setting of the bar, with glistening wine glasses turned upside down and stacked in front of a large mirror. No one was behind the counter. I noticed.

My friend sat on a stool, but I myself sat in a white chair. The cheap kind, the fold out ones that looked more appropriate for an outdoor wedding rather than a bar, but it was tall, as tall as the bar stool and we both faced the table. I myself was angled so the door was directly across from me, and the bar was behind me, my friend angled on my left and the table on my right. On the table was a large roulette, the ones I’ve never seen in real life, only in movies.

No one ever touched it. We were more focused on the cards on the table, not folded neatly, but not thrown around as if someone had decided to play 52 card pick up. Also on my right, the corner of the table blocking part of his body away from my view, sat a man. I say man because he was so muscular and big I felt afraid for my life; he was much too well developed to be a boy. He toyed with a knife in his right hand, a small hand of cards in his left, the cards dwarfed by his massive hands.

I can’t recall what his eyes looked like, what color they were, nor could I remember his nose or cheeks, if he had any blemishes or scars. But I remembered his lips. Pouty and sensual, his lips were placed in a frown and a slight smirk all at the same time. He had a birthmark above the left side of his lip. It was small, and barely noticeable and I believe the only way I remember is because it was there that was the only mark. His chin was smoothed, his jaw square and skin tanned carried no other marks other than the one near his lips. I wanted to kiss them I think, but I was too petrified in fear of him to move.

His hair was blonde, or a light brown. I can’t remember if it was the sun shining through the sunroof falling onto his hair that made the tips so light, or if it was his natural color. In any case, his hair was light, light and soft looking but splayed around his face thickly. It wasn’t shaggy, but it wasn’t short either.

The shirt he wore was a light green, not too bright, but more like a faded light green, the type you see on a dying field of grass, moments before the blades turn yellow. The fabric was taunt across his muscled chest, the muscles on his arms bulging as his fingers toyed with the knife. The veins closer to his hands pulsed and I never found anything sexier or more terrifying. Dark jeans completed his outfit. I don’t know if he wore shoes.

He had already told us what we needed to do. With his eyes smoldering on me, he had told us that we needed to play him to get out. And we were. And we were winning. At least, my friend was. You see, he never specified how we had to win. And currently, he was explaining to us that both of us had to win, not just my friend. My friend’s winning had earned her her own freedom, but not mine. If I lost again, I would have to stay.

My friend disappeared after that, and next thing I knew he was embracing me with his hulking arms, his breath on my neck, my lungs cut off from breathing. I was terrified. He hadn’t pulled me into his arms, nor had he loomed over me as I sat in the chair. We were suddenly standing and he was hugging me, as if I would disappear in an instant. I remember he smelled good, but I was too terrified to place the scent.

Suddenly, my friend and I were in the car, I gripping the steering wheel tightly as we sped away, over the bridge supported by thick wire cables that caged around the bridge, connecting two large cliffs together. The light brown mountain on our left as we drove to the right, and the murky gray color of the rushing waves on the other side frightened me. But not as much as seeing the rage on the man’s face after he realized we were gone, and the roar of pure rage that echoed in my ears. With fear, I noticed we were going the wrong way. We weren’t supposed to go over the bridge. We had to go home, screw whatever we were planning.

But we had to pass the bar.

I thought myself foolish for the fear I was feeling. I was in a car, and even if he could recognize it, there was nothing he could do to stop us from leaving. And yet, as I turned around and headed back over the bridge, the small, rickety bar hanging on the edge of a cliff, I felt the terror at the thought of passing the bar. I needed to get past the bar.

For some reason, I can’t remember if there was a road turning away from the ocean and the bar but I remember the stoplight at the end of the bridge, right where one could drive in or out from the bar. And I was terrified. Terrified that any moment while I was stopped at the light he would throw the door open and drag me back to the bar. Not my friend, he didn’t care about her. Not my friend, me.

It didn’t end then, I’m sure something else happened because I didn’t just wake up and faced reality. There was something else, not him, but something else. Then I woke up.
Tensaiga Tensaiga
18-21, F
1 Response May 7, 2012

Some dreams are boring. Some dreams are interesting. Some dreams are just brain-farts and made from the background noise of our hectic lives. Some dreams are full of important symbology and serve as a way to connect our consciousness and ego to the deep part of ourselves, the unconscious, the spirit.<br />
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I especially think recurring dreams are of the latter type.<br />
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Although you don't remember all your dream, you remember the important parts. Everything here says to me that you desire to take a risk, and fear holds you back. Deep down you do know what that risk is. You perceive that it involves a loss of control and the possibility of a huge loss. The presence of your friend and her success is a positive indicator that you think it is possible to achieve a good outcome in this risk, although you can't see this in yourself yet.<br />
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As for going past the bar again... for whatever reason you've decided that it is important to either take this risk or forget the opportunity and put it behind you, before you can move forwards in life.<br />
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Go for it! Or move on and leave that road untravelled. Either way, face what it is that seems to hold so much promise and fear, and always remember to enjoy the experience.