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In my dream last night
Oct. 12th, 2021 01:02 pmIn my dream last night I was helping a police officer trying to find the entrance to the basement of a very nice shopping centre. We split up at some point, but eventually I found a rather cleverly hidden trapdoor in the wooden floor right next to a bar. I opened the trapdoor, looked at the bar tender and said "I had better go and find the captain."
"Oh, she already went down there," the bartender replied, "she said that you should head on down."
I looked down the stairs in the basement. They were made of wood, nicely polished and heading towards a door.
"If I go down there, there's a good chance that I won't get out of there alive. If I don't, could you find me a better t-shirt to be buried in? This one is a bit threadbare."
The bartender promised, so I went down the stairs, opened the door and entered a small gallery.
The room was painted white, had dark wooden floors, an open doorway in the wall on my right and a lot of art, paintings mostly, hung on the walls. Hung on the wall, right next to the door I had just come through were several containers, some made of leather, others of metal mesh, full of various sharp and pointy kitchen implements. I picked up a small blade with a metal handle that looked like it was made for cleaning potatoes.
Everything was bitterly cold, as if the room was placed in the lowest deck of a metal hull ship.
The painting were rather small, all of them painted in garish colours, most of them depicting creepy, childrens-drawings of faces. I had a rather uneasy feeling looking at them.
I looked through the open doorway and could see another, larger gallery where people were walking around, looking at more art. I didn't get a good look at the art, but I assumed it was like the stuff in the first room, only worse and that the art would get progressingly creepier the more galleries one went through, since there were more doorways in there.
I looked back into the small gallery, looked at the potato knife in my hand and then said to myself: "Yeah, no, that's not going to happen. I'm going to wake up now."
And so I did.
"Oh, she already went down there," the bartender replied, "she said that you should head on down."
I looked down the stairs in the basement. They were made of wood, nicely polished and heading towards a door.
"If I go down there, there's a good chance that I won't get out of there alive. If I don't, could you find me a better t-shirt to be buried in? This one is a bit threadbare."
The bartender promised, so I went down the stairs, opened the door and entered a small gallery.
The room was painted white, had dark wooden floors, an open doorway in the wall on my right and a lot of art, paintings mostly, hung on the walls. Hung on the wall, right next to the door I had just come through were several containers, some made of leather, others of metal mesh, full of various sharp and pointy kitchen implements. I picked up a small blade with a metal handle that looked like it was made for cleaning potatoes.
Everything was bitterly cold, as if the room was placed in the lowest deck of a metal hull ship.
The painting were rather small, all of them painted in garish colours, most of them depicting creepy, childrens-drawings of faces. I had a rather uneasy feeling looking at them.
I looked through the open doorway and could see another, larger gallery where people were walking around, looking at more art. I didn't get a good look at the art, but I assumed it was like the stuff in the first room, only worse and that the art would get progressingly creepier the more galleries one went through, since there were more doorways in there.
I looked back into the small gallery, looked at the potato knife in my hand and then said to myself: "Yeah, no, that's not going to happen. I'm going to wake up now."
And so I did.
