I almost didn’t post about this because it was so disturbing to me, but I decided writing about the experience was the best way to explore it. I had uncharacteristically violent dreams last night. If you know me at all, you know any form of violence is not my thing. I don’t write thrillers because I don’t want to write violence—my one book with a serial killer had no violence because everything took place off-screen. I haven’t ever thought about writing paranormal for the same reason. Yet last night, both elements were in my dreams.
I am one of those people blessed or cursed (depends on your own experience) with total recall of my dreams. I have a son who shares that, and I laughed when he first married because they would wake up of a morning and share their dreams. Last night was one of those dreams I couldn’t shake. I would wake up, look at familiar surroundings, assure myself it was all a bad dream. But when I closed my eyes, I was back in it again. Finally broke the cycle by concentrating on things I want to do in the novel I’m working on.
The dream—was it two or one that segued into another? It began with a young boy who was violent, like a sociopath—he killed a cousin and kidnapped another. I don’t know whether I woke and could banish that or not, but suddenly I was in a world where people were randomly and suddenly vaporized, even whole buildings. You walked along the street and the person ahead of you might suddenly disappear. People were afraid to go into buildings for fear the whole building would go. There was, of course, mass panic, with crowds pressing to get I don’t know what—there was no immunity.
As I said, that’s where I left it. I reconstructed the evening. I had not watched violence on TV nor read anything but an innocuous cozy mystery; I had a turkey burger and Brussel sprout slaw for supper (that needs rethinking, but it didn’t lead to nightmares). I looked at violent dreams on the web. Seems, generally, that they do not mean you harbor a hidden violent streak (thank goodness) but that you are troubled, dealing with some conflict.
That led me down a blind alley. I have really thought about this, but I can’t imagine anything even in my subconscious that would cause me to want to destroy the world as I know it. And as for the young boy? Nope, not a clue.
Towards morning, when I slept again I had one of those lovely dreams about being young and in love again, courted by a wonderful considerate man. Now that I can identify with. I’m just going to forget the violence and hope it doesn’t come again. People vaporized?