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I'm at a dock, in front of me is a town and its full of people I don't know but I know that they're happy. Behind me is a factory or warehouse that I've never been in. There are people on the docks but I don't know them and I don't trust them, they don't feel right. To my left there is the ocean and a set of stairs leading down to a beach. There is a guy living in the cave on the beach and I go down to see him though I don't know if I know him all I know is that something bad is coming and its safe in his cave. As a walk down the stairs I see a ship coming towards the beach, its still a fair way off but I can feel that it's wrong, that it's dead. When I reach the bottom of the stairs the dream splits I'm turning to look at the cave and there are two versions side by side - two beaches, two caves and two 'me's. In the good version the beach is lovely and the guy is happy in his little cave but I can't go in, I speak to him for a minute and he's happy, I'm happy the world is ok. In the bad version there's blood on the beach and the guy is lying on a table in the cave, dead and mutilated. In both version I back away from the cave and the cave seals off. In the good version there's a sign or plaque next to where the cave was and the beach is still pretty. In the bad version there is a sign but its worn and ugly and the beach is now soaked in so much more blood and I'm covered in it. In both versions the ship is getting closer and it scares me. I go back to the stairs and as the beach falls out of view the versions meld back together and there's only one dream. At this point I know that it is a dream and that something bad is moments from happening. The factory opens up and trucks start driving out. They're covered in bodies wrapped in linens. The drivers don't get out and I run up to the first one and I beg them to go away, there's a town, everyone will die. The driver knows, he is government of military and he knows that he will die, that I will die and that everyone in the town will die but its his job and his sacrifice and he stays in the cab and waits to die. The people on the docks have stopped. Literally they have just stopped nothing moves and except for the ship, which is now just about at the beach, and the body on the top of the pile on the first truck - its starts moving and I start running. I run in to the factory and there is just a whole lot of shipping containers. The back wall of the factory is covered in holes which are rather large and square and pitch black. I climb on top of one of the shipping containers. The ship has reached the beach and everything outside is going to hell. Inside the factory the dead are starting to come out of the back wall, they're climbing out of the squares and on to the wall, they don't see me yet but for some reason it feels like the shipping container I'm on is tilted and I start slipping. Now they've seen me and they're coming for me and I'm slipping and I'm going to die.
2013-05-18 08:15:03
“You know that place between sleeping and awake, that place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always think of you.” ― J.M. Barrie My name is Shannon. I'm a seventeen year old girl with a cognitive sleep disorder, who doesn't dream. I haven't had a real dream in ten years. When I go to sleep, my body and my brain shuts off, until it's either time to wake up, or pass between the realm of the sleeping, and the awake. In these ten years, when I slept I was plagued with nightmares, vivid nightmares beyond my control that stay with me, haunt me during the day. I'd see the figures in my nightmares everywhere, be it people, or unexplainable things. But today, when I slept, something happened: I was sleeping, yet awake and well aware, and while this was happening, I was dreaming. This dream has to be the most real thing that has ever happened. Let me tell you what happened: I was sitting outside of a lovely, slightly older house with a young man, he was a little older than I was, Maybe nineteen or twenty. It was dark, snow was falling to the ground, but it wasn't cold. We were talking, having a wonderful time; he was handsome; mid-length choclate colored hair that was combed back, though some of his hair had migrated infront of his face. He was wearing all black, not in the 'creepy gothic' way you would think. He was wearing a lovely leather coat, looked like he had traveled to london and back to get it, regular dress shoes, slacks, and a long-sleeve black top. I was different, much different. I was dressed in all white, though I couldn't tell exactly what I was wearing, we had on almost the same jacket: mine was white, cotton; and his, well I've already told you. I was wearing a white beret, and my hair was much different: it was long, almost down to my back and as blonde as a sun goddess; curled just slightly at the end; my glasses weren't black anymore, but a light baby blue. He smiled at me, took my hand and called me "Madaline." I responded! That wasn't my name but I responded as if I've had it for my whole life. This boy... He looked into my eyes and I could see through him, I could see into his soul. In an instant he turned, and pulled out a beautiful light blue and lime green stripped scarf, drapped it around my neck, and smiled once again. I beemed, I didn't know what to say, it was beautiful! gorgeous, even. He then took a small letter from his pocket, and handed it to me. It was a poem, entitled "My sweet Madaline."; I stopped, and looked at him, and proceeded to read: "My sweet Madaline, Though I will never be here in time, You are heaven to this tattered soul. You are a gift, that should be protected, And though we may be appart, in life: I can promise you, we will have our time, My sweet Madaline." Before I had a moment to respond, a little girl came out of the house behind us. She was about eight or so, with the same hair color hair as the young man. She looked at the scarf, then the note, and ran in side "Mommy, mommy! Why does she gets stuff and I don't!" she shouted, running inside. We both laughed. At that moment my eyes opened, my room was dark. It was about 11:00am; but when I closed my eyes, this.. dream... it continued. There was a court room, the young man was sitting in front with his lawyer, there was *****ody on the stand. It seemed as though they were talking about a child that had died; Madaline. They had blamed the young man for it. The lawyer accusing him had found the poem. "My sweet Madaline" on his desk, to be honest, I don't know what was happening. I rushed into the court room, flinging open the doors and yelling "Stop!" Instantly all eyes were on me, the room fell silent as the young man looked back at me, and I knew, I just knew, he couldn't have done this. "That poem is about me! He wrote it about me!" I opened my eyes again, back to reality before turning to the otherside of my bed. Closing my eyes, I saw an older woman with two men standing on either side of her. She was holding a file, with one, small sheet of paper pulled out of it. "She's telling the truth." the woman said with a soft quiver in her voice. I saw the young man's face before my eyes opened for the final time. This is all I remember.
2013-05-08 22:55:37
i dreamed on Lovely Molly
2013-02-15 11:07:06


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