David Anderson's Blog - Posts Tagged "dreams"
The Great Brain Robbery
I bumped into a man on the train today as I headed home from work. I turned and apologised to him. He was smartly dressed in an expensive suit and tie with slicked back hair reminiscent of a Brylcreem poster boy. He had a jacket draped over his right arm and an umbrella in his left fist. I raised my hand and said sorry; he nodded his acceptance. The doors of the train slid shut and I forgot about him as I left the train station.
It wasn't until later than I noticed a small spot of blood on the back of my hand. There was also a small bloodstain on the cuff of my white shirt. As I removed my shirt and popped it in the washing machine I recalled the fellow on the train and his umbrella. I must have knicked myself on it somehow as I forced my way through the crowd. I gave the incident no further thought, forgetting the gentleman once again as I sat down for my dinner.
Later I settled down in front of the television for the night with a couple of cans of beer. After finishing the final can, I crushed it, brushed my teeth and went to bed.
I had some funny dreams that night. First I was sat at a small wooden table in a cavernous room that looked like an aircraft hangar. Across from me sat the fellow from the train. He was wearing the same outfit from earlier, his long legs crossed, his hands placed on his topmost knee. He smiled at me and I smiled back. This locale faded out and was replaced soon after by another. The well-dressed man was leading me down a corridor lined on either side with doors. I looked as far as I could ahead of the gentleman and could see no end to that corridor. It seemed to stretch on into infinity. I didn't dare look over my shoulder for fear that the infinity was also behind me and would attempt to claim me, drag me kicking and screaming into forever. The doors we passed were numbered, the digits impossibly long, some separated onto as many as ten or twenty lines. Despite this the man walked with purpose, as if he knew where he was going.
After this the dream became fragmented and confusing. I dreamed I was standing at a cash point. I entered my number into the ATM and cash began to spew from the mouth of the withdrawal slot like you see in comedy sketches. Next I was buying a crate of turnips and a hat for a donkey from a famous online retailer. The dream took me through each step of the baffling purchase in great detail: entering my address, my credit card details and security code, going back over every detail methodically to check for mistakes. Finally I dreamed I was a child again, standing by myself in the centre of a giant stage, spotlight blinding me. Before me a huge crowd watched on raptly. The scene reminded me of a spelling bee I had taken part in when I was thirteen, but when I opened my mouth I spewed forth nothing but an endless list of numbers. For some reason I felt they sounded familiar, but from where I could not determine.
I woke up. I had neglected to shut my curtains properly and a slant of bright morning sunshine had crawled onto my face through the gap. I sat up and mulled over the unusual dream. Then, as is common with interrupted dreams, the details rapidly began to fade from my memory. I shrugged, dragged myself out of bed and showered. By the time I had towelled myself dry I'd completely forgotten the disjointed dream.
I left my house for work thirty minutes later and as I pushed the key into the lock on my front door I noticed the small knick on my hand had become a livid bruise. How strange.
During my lunch hour I visited a cash point to withdraw some cash to pay for my coffee and sandwich. I entered my main bank card, keyed in the PIN and found my account to be completely empty. I had the same problem with the other cards, too.
It wasn't until later than I noticed a small spot of blood on the back of my hand. There was also a small bloodstain on the cuff of my white shirt. As I removed my shirt and popped it in the washing machine I recalled the fellow on the train and his umbrella. I must have knicked myself on it somehow as I forced my way through the crowd. I gave the incident no further thought, forgetting the gentleman once again as I sat down for my dinner.
Later I settled down in front of the television for the night with a couple of cans of beer. After finishing the final can, I crushed it, brushed my teeth and went to bed.
I had some funny dreams that night. First I was sat at a small wooden table in a cavernous room that looked like an aircraft hangar. Across from me sat the fellow from the train. He was wearing the same outfit from earlier, his long legs crossed, his hands placed on his topmost knee. He smiled at me and I smiled back. This locale faded out and was replaced soon after by another. The well-dressed man was leading me down a corridor lined on either side with doors. I looked as far as I could ahead of the gentleman and could see no end to that corridor. It seemed to stretch on into infinity. I didn't dare look over my shoulder for fear that the infinity was also behind me and would attempt to claim me, drag me kicking and screaming into forever. The doors we passed were numbered, the digits impossibly long, some separated onto as many as ten or twenty lines. Despite this the man walked with purpose, as if he knew where he was going.
After this the dream became fragmented and confusing. I dreamed I was standing at a cash point. I entered my number into the ATM and cash began to spew from the mouth of the withdrawal slot like you see in comedy sketches. Next I was buying a crate of turnips and a hat for a donkey from a famous online retailer. The dream took me through each step of the baffling purchase in great detail: entering my address, my credit card details and security code, going back over every detail methodically to check for mistakes. Finally I dreamed I was a child again, standing by myself in the centre of a giant stage, spotlight blinding me. Before me a huge crowd watched on raptly. The scene reminded me of a spelling bee I had taken part in when I was thirteen, but when I opened my mouth I spewed forth nothing but an endless list of numbers. For some reason I felt they sounded familiar, but from where I could not determine.
I woke up. I had neglected to shut my curtains properly and a slant of bright morning sunshine had crawled onto my face through the gap. I sat up and mulled over the unusual dream. Then, as is common with interrupted dreams, the details rapidly began to fade from my memory. I shrugged, dragged myself out of bed and showered. By the time I had towelled myself dry I'd completely forgotten the disjointed dream.
I left my house for work thirty minutes later and as I pushed the key into the lock on my front door I noticed the small knick on my hand had become a livid bruise. How strange.
During my lunch hour I visited a cash point to withdraw some cash to pay for my coffee and sandwich. I entered my main bank card, keyed in the PIN and found my account to be completely empty. I had the same problem with the other cards, too.
