Dream 9.19.2018
A nearby forest is on fire and spreading fast. Our community comes together and escapes the coming blaze. Some of us are riding in a van. Others, including myself, are in an open trailer. We pass by my dad's house, which is a tent. We tell the driver to stop. The leaders tell us that we must keep moving. We stop anyway. I run into the tent to gather some personal items, and soon we are back on the road. We drive through unique areas and walk through different buildings.
All of us stay in a shelter. My sister Amy is here. Without warning, ballistic missiles fall from the sky. Many hide under their beds for a last-ditch effort at survival. I do the same. I survive the first batch of air attacks, but more are coming. Once again, those of us who are still alive are back on the move. We crowd into a bus and drive away from the war zone.
I become separated from the group. I go one way, thinking it's the right way, but then I watch as the bus speeds the other direction. It goes too fast, and I cannot catch up. I stand in the middle of a highway writing a story about an old woman who has a stalker. The man comes to her house often, and he is hostile. She locks the doors and readies her shotgun, in case it comes to that. One day the man arrives. I have yet to write the ending. Dream ends.
I wake up
A nearby forest is on fire and spreading fast. Our community comes together and escapes the coming blaze. Some of us are riding in a van. Others, including myself, are in an open trailer. We pass by my dad's house, which is a tent. We tell the driver to stop. The leaders tell us that we must keep moving. We stop anyway. I run into the tent to gather some personal items, and soon we are back on the road. We drive through unique areas and walk through different buildings.
All of us stay in a shelter. My sister Amy is here. Without warning, ballistic missiles fall from the sky. Many hide under their beds for a last-ditch effort at survival. I do the same. I survive the first batch of air attacks, but more are coming. Once again, those of us who are still alive are back on the move. We crowd into a bus and drive away from the war zone.
I become separated from the group. I go one way, thinking it's the right way, but then I watch as the bus speeds the other direction. It goes too fast, and I cannot catch up. I stand in the middle of a highway writing a story about an old woman who has a stalker. The man comes to her house often, and he is hostile. She locks the doors and readies her shotgun, in case it comes to that. One day the man arrives. I have yet to write the ending. Dream ends.
I wake up
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