For some reason, evil villains (especially little girls) bent on killing me is a common theme in my dreams. As long as you are not yet bored of this theme, I'm sure you'll enjoy the following dream sequence.
Much as I would like to, I don't remember much before the explosion of the sulfur dioxide balloon. I believe I was chronically sick with some sort of fatal illness, and I had entered a store in the
Stoneridge Mall to see a woman who had the antidote to my disease. She must have given me the antidote and saved my life. (It still irks me that I can't remember this section clearly, because the most important and emotional effects of my dream probably took place before the sulfur-dioxide incident that I will now recount.)
After I was cured, I started gazing around the store, looking at the objects on display. There were strange objects ranging from lava-lamps to pulsating balloons, all under a disco light that gave a trance-like feel to the scene.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a tall skinny flask on a table with a yellow balloon attached to its opening. The yellow balloon was outlined by a blue force field, but I could see that there was yellow gas inside -- sulfur dioxide, I assumed (later, I googled sulfur dioxide in real life and discovered that it's actually a colorless gas). The balloon repeatedly oscillated in size, inflating and deflating over and over again.
"Just don't pop it," she said without answering my question.
As if on cue, some random oaf in the store went "whoops" and knocked the flask a bit, which disengaged the balloon and released yellow poisonous gas in the air. I quickly ran out of the store while holding my breath. Behind me, no one had yet realized the situation, and the store owner was calmly telling everyone to evacuate the premises.
I found myself on the second floor of the Stoneridge Mall, which overlooks the first floor. I ran for a bit, slowing down because I was sure I'd gotten far enough from the gas for it to have diffused by now.
Unfortunately, more yellow gas starting pouring through the ventilation system of the entire Stoneridge Mall. Somehow, the store owner had decided to gas everyone in the entire building! "Control the vents, and you control the entire building," I mused to myself. I began to run for an exit, but I felt slowed and crippled as the sulfur dioxide entered my body, numbing my senses and slowing me down. As low gravity "dream running" settled in, I could barely run at a walking pace.
Nonetheless, I entered a Macy's-like store at an endpoint of the second-story walkway, and quickly found the closest exit to the outside. I opened the door and stepped into fresh air and bright sunlight -- I was now in a parking lot.
I had barely taken a couple of steps when I saw a boy rounding the corner of the building scootering along on his razor scooter towards the parking lot. My omniscient dreaming sense told me that this boy was an accomplice of the evil villain store owner -- her boyfriend, in fact. There was a tree close to me, but it was too late to run and hide behind that; he would see me for sure. So I simply froze in place and prayed he wouldn't see me.
The evil store owner was right behind him, also on a scooter. For some reason, she was no longer a woman, but now a little girl wearing red. Both the girl and the boy made an inspection of the area without seeing me. When they were satisfied that no one had escaped the gassing, they headed back around the corner of the building from where they came. When she was almost out of view, the little girl decided to look behind her one last time. That's when she saw me.
She started scootering towards me, and I knew she was the type of villain that would never allow for any survivors. There was only one place to run, only one shelter available -- I ran back into the gas-filled mall, and she followed me there.
Fortunately, I found two little kids inside the building who were also victims, running from the gas. The little kids and I braced ourselves for battle against the one evil little girl. She came storming in with a flat silver wrench, and hurled it at me without hesitation. The wrench spun through the air at me, but I ducked and put my hands up, miraculously catching the thrown wrench in my hands.
However, we were no match for the girl in hand-to-hand combat; she simply could not be taken down. At this point, more victims showed up, and now we had a team of about 4 kids plus myself. We surrounded the girl in a circle and assumed our fighting poses, waiting for her to make one mistake.
Eventually she did make a small mistake. She lashed out at one of the kids a bit too slowly, and he grabbed her in the arm. Immediately, another little kid seized this opportunity to grab her other arm. Abruptly, the whole team rushed in to grab her limbs and keep her immobilized, and the battle was over. It was my job to hit her with the wrench and knock her out cold.
I whacked her repeatedly with the silver wrench she had thrown at me, but she simply would not lose consciousness. In fact, even between blows to her head she still struggled against the grip of the four little kids. But I still had to keep hitting her on the head; if she didn't lose consciousness, we'd never get out alive.
Finally, an adult (she seemed like a 40-ish year old mother) walked in on us. "Cut it out," she said, as if this were not an intense battle, but some elementary school skirmish. "Break it up." We refused.
"You don't understand," I told her. "Letting her go would be like letting a murderer loose with a gun in his hands. She's dangerous."
The mother would not be swayed, and eventually the fight really did break up, with the little girl running away to who-knows-where. We were safe now, finally, and I walked into the parking lot again.
My phone vibrated, and I picked it up. It was my dad. "We're worried about you, how come you haven't called us? We have to talk about your behavior and how you ignored all my calls."
"But I was busy fighting that... girl." I protested. Then I asked, "Do you think the sulfer-dioxide will cause any lasting long-term damage?"
My dad responded, "No, sulfur-dioxide shouldn't be your main concern. Remember your disease? It burned through most of the inside of your body, Max."
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Quickload Works in Dreams
The first dream
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
I was with my old high-school buddies, most of them Asian. The only person I distinctly remember being with me is Allen, but there were others as well. All of us were carrying guns; I had one in my right cargo pocket.
Little girls were playing hula, or some other random games, in the courtyard. I sighed. At this rate, we'll never have an opportunity to terminate the target unseen.
Some members of my assassination team started throwing stones at the nearest shop window, as a diversion of attention from our target, who was a man walking away from the courtyard. I thought this was overkill, because the windows almost broke. I proceeded to follow the target, fingering the gun in my pocket for reassurance.
I wondered if what we were doing was morally justified. The one who gave us our assignment had claimed to be an agent of the
Shadow Broker, a mysterious character in a computer game called "Mass Effect." The Shadow Broker buys and sells "secrets." For example, he buys evidence of a murder, or other such shady business, and sells the information to those who desire it, thus making a profit.
In my dream, the shadow broker wasn't satisfied with what he had; he wanted to cause more trouble, make more "secrets" that he could sell. That's why he sent us to kill this guy; then he'd have more interesting information to sell to others. "Information is a commodity," the agent had said. Since our target was a bad guy himself, it would not be too morally reprehensible. Or would it?
After I had stalked my target for quite a while, he started to make small-talk with me. I knew he was only doing it because he suspected I was trying to kill him, and was trying to make me feel sympathy. It was working. I asked him what his name was, and he hesitated a moment before replying "Debbie Walker."
I never did kill the man. I was curious, though, to see whether or not his name was actually Debbie Walker. When I returned home I facebooked the name and found no faces matching that of his. That's how I knew he was lying.
End of first dream.
Second dream:
It was extremely windy outside of our house. The road in front of the house was no longer the pleasant residential 25 mph street; rather, it was a two-lane highway. Booming waves crashed upon the rocks just beyond, and sounds of howling wind and ocean spray filled the air.
A family knocked on my front door, and I opened it. The mother was asking directions to a location, which will now be known as "Location." I closed the door against the wind and yelled to my mother, "How do you get to Location?" She responded with something about Wine Spring City. I opened the front door and relayed that information to the family, and they were grateful.
Soon after, however, the father randomly turned into a zombie. He bit the mother and the son. "This will not do," I thought. Hastily, I reached over to press the "quickload" button on my computer keyboard: F9.
The game loaded back at the beginning of the scene, with the family knocking on my door. Everything proceeded as before; I even hastily told them the directions to Location. But this time, I knew what was going to happen. I called the mother of the family on my cellphone, warning her that her husband will turn into a zombie. As the first symptoms of zombie-ness started to develop in the father, she realized I was telling the truth and began to back away. Realistically, our phone conversation cut off as soon as she started to run.
Alas, the son could not be saved and was bitten by the father. My front door was locked, but there was a big glass window in the middle, through which the father zombie broke. I ran to the kitchen, but the father zombie was right at my heels! I had to get out of the house fast, so I jump-kicked through the glass of the kitchen window.
I continued to run, but for some reason my shorts were down, wrapped around my ankles and hindering my movement. Fortunately I had my trusty sword. I sliced through the center of the shorts around my ankles to allow my legs to move freely. Conveniently, I also slew the father zombie with the sword by slicing his torso in half.
I had climbed over the wooden fence of the backyard to the neighboring house's yard, but the son zombie was in hot pursuit, beginning to climb the fence. Suddenly, as musical notes drifted from the house, I realized that my sister was still placidly practicing piano. I climbed back over the fence into my own backyard and gave myself an upwards boost...
Which proved to be the worst decision I could ever make in a "running from monsters" dream. These dreams are notorious for their extremely low gravity. When I jumped upwards from the fence, my trajectory was in slow motion due to the low gravity of the dream. The son zombie easily covered the horizontal distance of my trajectory and stood at its endpoint, awaiting my inevitable fall to the ground so he could eat me.
"This will not do!" I declared, and I hit F9. I caught a glimpse of the beginning scene at the front door before I woke up.
End of dream #2
This proves that "quickload," a common feature in computer games, works in dreams. "Quicksave," however, has yet to be tried...
[edit] p.s. I forgot to mention the musical accompaniment of the zombie dream, which consisted of a two-chord progression: f minor - a flat minor, with the melody going F - E - E flat (E being the passing tone). If you can't imagine this in your head, please play it on a piano. This short instrumental sound byte (it seemed to be mostly orchestral strings) repeated over and over again in my head during this dream, providing a fittingly creepy sound scape for the zombie dream. Since it was short and simple, I was able to remember it upon waking up.
I have probably had dreams with much more interesting original musical content, but alas, it is much more difficult to remember longer, non-repetitive themes. Usually, any memory of such musical content is not only extremely fragile, but also restricted to the last couple of seconds in the dream. I therefore urge readers of this note to dedicate their life to the discovery of DREAM-RECORDING TECHNOLOGY. Thank you.
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