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Dream Analysis

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Lara



Joined: 29 Mar 2004
Posts: 2061
Location: NorCal, USA
Dream Analysis  Reply with quote  

First draft...


Marisa was sitting in the breakfast nook, logging onto her dream blog, when I wandered blearily into the kitchen. I had been drawn from a deep, dreamless slumber by the scent of fresh coffee.

“Class this morning?” I tapped on the top of the coffee maker, urging it to dribble faster, darker.

“Dream Analysis.” Her fingers rapidly skimmed the keyless pad, entering a series of passwords that would open up the university and turn our small kitchen into a classroom. “You might want to move to the left a little bit… or put on some pants,” she said, indicating the ‘cam clipped to the edge of the table. I flashed it the peace sign and gave a shout out to my mom.

“A little early for the class to be starting. Is everyone logged on?” I adjusted my tighty whities and scratched luxuriously.

“No one yet. I’m just waiting for Dorothy. I have to write an analysis of this dream by nine and I need her help. An objective viewpoint.” She cast a look over her shoulder, one that indicated I was perhaps far from objective. But the look was playful. The morning sunlight pushing through the weathered glass of the windows clung to her hair, burning hot in the cool, still air.

“Is Dorothy the one who had the dream about…”

“Hush!” She quickly placed a hand in front of the ‘cam as though out of sight, out of hearing. “Dreams are confidential. You’re not supposed to know anything.”

“I know nothing,” I blew the dust out of a chipped mug that praised my abilities as a grandmother. “So I’ve been told.” I poured the rich brew and inhaled the steam, feeling my synapses fire up with the mere promise of a sip.

The smoky screen of her computer began to swirl and coalesce as the subject of her homework loaded onto the PC. With her back to me, I could see that her hair, pixie short when we had first moved in together, was already half-way down her back, spilling over the chair in a lightly tangled red wave. I stepped up behind her and ran my fingers through the locks, gently untangling them as she watched the screen. Her posture was serious and I hoped she would become so involved in her own dream that she would not pay attention to the fact that I was observing her sub-conscious fill the flat holo-screen.

It was monochrome. At first I thought it was faulty soft-ware (we had not yet upgraded to DreamWare 6) but then a road began to form in the golden ethers. We sped along at an enormous rate, so fast that I placed my hand on her shoulder to steady myself against the sudden vertigo. She stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed, leaning back slightly. She was going to let me watch. It felt very intimate, more intimate than making love, to be allowed to watch.

“Forewarned,” she whispered. “I don’t remember what I dreamed. Think you can handle the darkest regions of my mind?”

I didn’t say a word, just lifted her hair and leaned over to kiss the back of her neck. The road continued; shifting from a desert landscape with cacti whipping by in the darkness, to a curving mountainous trek with craggy rocks and the silhouettes of trees against a starry night sky. Suddenly, the perspective lifted from the confines of the earth and soared into the heavens, bordered by a tunnel of glowing rings.

“This is about where I fall asleep,” she murmured. “I know I’m about to drift of when the road appears. I’m pretty much asleep with it takes off into the air.”

The surface of my coffee with rippling and I realized my hand was trembling slightly. I stepped back and leaned against the counter, cold against my backside. My feet, too, were cooled by the linoleum. But I wasn’t about to leave this alternate reality show for anything, even warm slippers.

Dreams take up an amazing amount of file space and to watch one in its entirety, would take years. This was a phenomenom that had not been noted when DreamWare 1.0, a digital program, was first introduced. Only bits and pieces could be downloaded, tiny fragments of the whole. Since this was how our dreams were commonly remembered, no one realized that huge gaps were missing. No one could know that some dreams, even during a nap of twenty minutes or so, were longer than some lifetimes. We were so impressed, so amazed; reading the images produced by the mind during REM sleep was a miraculous technological feat that took the world by storm. But it became mundane within a few months and the consumers demanded more. Mental sound was added in the updated DreamWare 2.5 and by 5.5, the software had gone quantum and the true vastness of our sub-conscious was revealed. There was no way to store the immense amount of information on any hard drive. Quantum storage was the only means. Still, even though we had the option to review our dreams in their entirety, we did not have the time. And more often than not, we did not have the desire.

Now, every college student was required to take at least one course in Dream Analysis. One course was enough for me. I had spent that entire semester haunted by shadows and often set my alarm to wake me up every half hour or so to ensure that my dreams would be interrupted, or perhaps avoided altogether. Even the good ones, the wet ones, were revealed to be far less erotic than I had imagined. A hot babe with flowing blonde hair had turned out to be a toothless hag with a dog’s face and my mother’s voice.

And the prophetic dreams… some things are better left unknown.

I swallowed convulsively as the images on the screen appeared and my beloved’s inner world, albeit a brief glimpse, was about to be revealed. I waited for her to stop the program and ask me to leave, but she did not.

She was only required, as I had been during my course, to view ten minutes of a dream. This sometimes meant that you analyzed nothing but swirling gasses and Technicolor galaxies spinning in the ethers. You could fast forward, if you wished, slip through the boundaries of time but today, last night I suppose, Marisa’s dream launched into full play the moment she entered REM.

Music blasted forth, so powerful that I felt it on the skin of my face. It wasn’t loud, it simply vibrated the very air. She giggled. The music was a rather warped version of “A Bicycle Built For Two”. Rolling green fields appeared and in the distance, I could see a blanket spread on the grass under a tree. The sunlight was dazzling. As the music faded, much like the opening of a movie, I could hear the spinning wheels of a bicycle. Our perspective was from the back of that bicycle. We quickly made our way to the blanket, where a brunette woman with abnormally large cheeks and breasts was seated, cross-legged and naked, reading a book and eating an apple. She was wearing a necklace of black ants that industriously picked up the bits of fruit spilling onto her ample cleavage and carried them off behind her neck.

“You’re late,” the woman said. Her voice was rich, melodic, and tinged with choral overtones.

The view shifted and I looked into Marisa’s eyes on the screen. They were rippling, like actual pools of water that had been disturbed by pebbles. “Richard wanted a morning fuck,” she said, in my voice.

“You even sound like him,” the woman’s tone was disgusted. She tossed the book to Marisa and I watched her catch it. I saw through her eyes, the pages of the book were blank. “Write it down,” snarled the woman.

Marisa, in real life, sitting at the tiny table, shifted and coughed softly. “That’s Dorothy,” she whispered. “I must have been dreaming about how she was supposed to help me analyze this morning.”

“Nice tits,” I said. After I spoke, the woman’s breasts lost their fullness, shriveling into bags with lumps kicking like frightened kittens at the bottom.

“Hush,” said Marisa, in the dream. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

And there I was, in the dream. Standing behind them in a rumpled suit, an old seersucker, something I had never worn. “I’m hungry,” her dream-me said, whining.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dorothy growled, fangs descending over her bottom lip. “Why’d you bring him?”

“Richard, go away. I’m doing my homework.”

Suddenly, I was a fly on her shoulder. “Fuck me! Fuck me!” the dream-fly-me cried. I was wearing diapers.

With a casual slap, dream-Marisa smushed me. I left a multi-colored smear on her skin. She plucked my tiny body up between two fingers. She ate me. “There, now we can get to work.”

Dorothy was a zebra.

That was enough for me. I was an idiot to watch. She was a fool to let me. I dumped my cooling coffee into the sink and left the kitchen.

Marisa called out after me. “Richard, this is a Jungian class. Everything in the dream represents a part of me.”

I was in the bedroom, pulling on a pair of jeans, feeling a light nausea coming on.

“Richard.” She stood in the doorway, her brow deeply furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight, hard moue.

I sat on the edge of the bed, tying my shoes. “You killed me. You ate me.”

“It’s nothing personal," she said. "I just don't like you very much."

I was having a very hard time with the laces of my sneakers. They kept tangling up, wrapping around my fingers like tiny snakes. I paused. I looked at the clock. The alarm was about to go off. I wanted to scream. I did and it sounded very much like the alarm clock.

Marisa was sitting in the breakfast nook, logging onto her dream blog, when I wandered blearily into the kitchen, I had been drawn from a deep, dream-filled slumber by the scent of fresh coffee.

“Class this morning?” I tapped on the top of the coffee maker, urging it to dribble faster, darker.

“Dream Analysis.” Her fingers rapidly skimmed the keyless pad, entering a series of passwords that would open up the university and turn our small kitchen into a classroom. “You might want to move to the left a little bit… or put on some pants.”

“Pants,” I said quickly, my stomach clenching. “I’ll put on pants and grab some coffee on the way to work.”

She looked back over her shoulder at me and winked. Her pixie hair cut was a cap of fire in the morning sun. “See you in my dreams,” she said as the images began to download.
_________________
"Science and Mother Nature are in a marriage where Science is always surprised to come home and find Mother Nature blowing the neighbor." ~ http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays


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