It would seem that my late-night post, (which I technically finished writing on Saturday around 2:00 AM my time, which is a long time to write a post, except I was busy organizing my thoughts and trying to remember events, but still shows as a Friday post) affected my dreams. And now I'm rushing to get it down, since it was very much so unlike me.
It was the LIKE movie "Se7en," except it starred Brad Pitt in all significant roles, with me as...ummm...Brat Pitt's character, Detective David Mills...except I was, in fact, myself. This dream was out of order, and came to me as though I was in a movie and trying to rewrite the outcome. And when I succeeded, (in an violent and bloody manner), apparently I went back and tried to alter the "film" even further. The oddball traps in my "head movie," however, were also reminiscent of the "Saw" franchise.
Like the trap that had poor Andy Griffith killed. Why Andy was there, I don't know. But Brad and I discovered him in the basement of a decaying house. Somehow, Andy and I ended up with a powder in our eyes from two different sources. When I washed the stinging stuff away, I was fine. But Andy's powder turned to acid and melted his head into a puddle of ick.
Then there was the bendy tree" trap. This tree had grown into the shape of a slingshot. At its two highest points was a victim, one on each side. I have no idea how this trap was set. The two high points were bent in opposite directions, and to cut the rope hold one side would also release the other side, flinging the person there to his/her doom. And the people up there were a husband and wife who were bound and gagged. Well, somehow the rope was cut to free the wife, which sent the husband flying to his death. And the wife turned out to be an exhumed corpse not worth saving to start with.
The motivator to rewrite this "film" came when the killer managed to make it look like I killed Becky. No...Becky and our baby were killed...in a shoe store...that was burning. (Don't judge me! I don't write the dreams; I just write them down!) I stood there helplessly as I watched Becky stand in this fire, her very pregnant belly exposed for some reason, and a little hand pushing outward so that I could see its shape against her skin. As the fire started, people around me that were also watching the fire were blaming me. In the next instant, I was being exonerated for this supposed crime when they saw how much I was crying at Becky's demise. In fact, there was some expression of love that I made that had some other woman comment, "I married the wrong man." (Apparently I'm a great guy in my dreams, too.)
And so it was that a new "police tactic" was made to deal with the brazen killer. Said killer not only managed to communicate with us during the crimes, but was somehow on hand for a few of them. (Just more weirdness for the masses, I guess.) The policy dictated that we kill "John Doe" on sight, regardless of consequence. Thus, when Brad Pitt had my partner, also Brad Pitt, held in front of him as a shield, I didn't do what "good cops" would do. Instead, I kept firing my gun through my partner until some of the bullets penetrated and hit John Doe. Then I chased him to an apartment building, where I finished him off.
For me, when a dream reaches such a resolution, it usually ends. This time, however, events started to replay, giving me the opportunity to alter the way the "film" ran in the first place.
When I attempted to prevent Andy from getting that mystery powder wet, thereby turning it to acid, he ran off and tried to wash it out on his own. So his brain got melted again.
For the giant slingshot, I rescued the husband instead of the wife...but the husband had only been reminded of how much he missed her and killed himself with a knife that was in the cemetery gate. (I told you not to judge me!)
Instead of returning to the rather upsetting scene where Becky died, things moved to what was supposed to be our introduction to John Doe...except that it was a park that was walled in, and we were trying to stop it from filling with boiling water.
Then it was realized that if *I* could go back and try to alter the outcome, so could John Doe. He replaced my gun with a shotgun filled with rock salt. Because it was at point blank range, I ended up killing my partner, while John Doe got away.
And then the nightmare was over, as I awoke to find Nike meowing to get out of my room to eat.
Usually, when I remember my dreams, they're about me having a goal that's difficult to accomplish because of some insane obstacle. But this dream was downright violent, which isn't even my nature. Oh, I have a mighty temper, but I keep a leash on it because I'm afraid of hurting people. I see this particular dream as me wanting an end to things, regardless of who gets hurt or how they get hurt. This is against my great desire to remain the nice guy that I am, or at least try to be. I don't want to hurt my father...but there's a part of me that wishes to remain open and honest and TELL him exactly what's on my mind. His outright refusal to help me come see him came across as a message that he doesn't really want to see me at all. If he could hurt me that way, I can hurt him...Right? Unable to do so in reality, my dreams took on a violent bent.
Oh...and I skipped a few things that...well, they were ALSO not in my nature. Like the business cards with a little piece to put them in your ear and talk to people. (Huh?) Avoiding a rather large, black bus driver that wanted to become romantically involved with me. (No idea.) The family of Mexican/Eastern Indians I was living with toward the end. (What ethnic borders?) And, of course, me sitting in a burning version of the slingshot tree, performing hip hop. (Stop. Judging. Me.)
The absolute worst part of this whole dream was watching Becky in that shoe store. She was standing ankle-deep in a fluid that was on fire, and she REFUSED to let me rescue her. That's why I just stood there in the dream. I stood there and cried, because I knew someone else was responsible for killing the woman I love. It was frustrating and heartbreak, all at once. And I have no idea if tears rolled in reality, as Nike demanded immediate attention and I rushed onto my computer to write all this madness down.
I'm going to go now. Surely there are other ways to vent my bizarre imagination.