I'm currently in a writing class where we have to turn in twenty journals by next tuesday. One of these must be the description of a dream we have. I knew this would be easy because I have ridiculously vivid nightmares at least two or three times a week. I had a great one this morning as I slept in until ten... :-) I have this recurring theme of the Joker from "The Dark Knight" tries to kill me. Anyway, here is last night's dream...
May 3, 2009
I awake to the noxious fumes of the Joker’s breath as he hovers over me with his eternal grin. My heart pounds in my ears, and I thrash to avoid his deadly kiss. Suddenly a body flies over mine and lands on Joker. As they wrestle, I run. I don’t know where to, but away.
Clayton and I had been evading the Joker for a week now. He was on a quest for a kill, and I was his target. He could kill me by either touching a “box tops for education” to my eye or by kissing me, a reverse Sleeping Beauty effect. I was exhausted from running. Clayton and I discovered the before unheard of seventh floor Book of Mormon exhibit in the Joseph Smith Building on BYU campus. We had camped out there for the night. I don’t know how the Joker found us, but he did, and here I am running again.
I run right into another trap. Tall men in grey coats swarm all around me and bring me to a line full of college-age kids like myself. We wait in the guarded line while a man assigns a color to each of us and hands us a polo in that color to wear. At the front of the line is Lauren, a friend from high school! She has a blue polo. I quickly convince the man to give me blue and sprint behind Lauren. She weaves in and out of rows and rows of school busses, yet I finally catch her, completely out of breath. She explains that we must go to the blue bus, and I follow not knowing what else to do.
I enter the bus, and to my relief, Miss Jill, the mother of my best friend Hollie, is the bus driver! However, instead of explaining what in the world is going on, she takes my cell phone from me and hands me a booklet to read. I sit down in exasperation, confused and scared. The bus was full of girls; I guess we were separated by gender. I sit next to Lauren, but before I can ask what is going on, the wheels of the bus screech as it goes from a standstill to 60 miles per hour in about two seconds flat. Suddenly, the Joker appears in the seat behind me and starts throwing box tops. I cover my face and run to the front of the bus. Baseballs aimed at my head are being thrown through the windows and, dodging them, successfully land in the front seat next to Hollie. “Where are we going? What is going on?” I scream. But everyone ignores my pleas, annoyed that I am so emotional. The anger and frustration build. I’m constantly evading Joker and flying baseballs, Clayton is continually calling my cell phone but I cannot get to it. Miss Jill answers with, “Erika is not here right now. Sorry. Goodbye.” Then she hangs up. After three long days of baseballs and box tops flying at my head with no one caring to help or listen, we stop. Hollie explains, “We are going to serve at “Jump up,” an event in London, England.”
After a bathroom break, we resume, and everyone on the bus threatens to throw me off the bus if I do not calm down. I know that if I leave the bus it will be only the Joker and me so I remain silent next to Hollie, hiding under the seat.
Upon our arrival I am assigned to serve at McDonalds, where the red vinyl seats are so short that I cannot reach the table. I get placed in the kitchen. A long wooden table next to a conveyer belt full of food awaits me. The news is on and people are screaming of swine flu. All chicken and steak is infected. I watch in dread as tray after tray of chicken and steak flood the kitchen. I grab the trays, run them to the trash, quickly mark the amount on the spoilage log, and repeat for every tray that flies down the conveyor belt. Once I clean it off, I lay on the long wooden table and try to interpret the cryptic abbreviations that fill my assignment sheet on the clipboard. I can’t understand what I need to do and cannot find help. Then I spot my help. There is a girl resting against the table, but all I can see is her legs. I realize her torso is laying on top of the table as she is bent at the waist at a ninety degree angle to her legs. She moves from the table. She cannot straighten herself, and refuses to help me in her bent state.
Miss Jill walks in, angry that I am not making progress in the kitchen. Yet what can I do? I do not understand what to do. My “help” looks like she came out of Alice and Wonderland. Quickly, I realize I must escape. I steal my cell phone from her and run. I run and run through London. I am always running. But I stop. I call home.