Ending fragment. Guy like a cross between The Punisher and Star Lord. I was his friend. He was having some struggles, and his car would not start. I looked at is, spotless under the hood, cavernous even, and all simple. There was not enough under the hood to go wrong. It was just a matter of running way too rich, so it would not even start. Clouds of half-burnt fuel would spurt out of the intake, sputter, lop, die.
He wandered off, comfused and conflicted, while I troubleshot it. There was a small, compact, spark control computer as part of the distributor. I figured that had failed, but maybe if we opened up the throttle, it would at least stay running. There was not a usual air filter, rather a yellow box, with a key on it. Again, spotless, shiny. Far too small to filter that much airflow, it must be an EM field generator that actively cleans the air.
I went to find him to get the key, and he’s wandered out back, hood pulled up. I followed, and he’d gone to track someone down. Through some alleyways, etc I followed. The dream is faded as to whether he kicked some ass, or could not find them. But, I followed him to the back gate, put my gand on his shoulder, and someone else spun around.
She was a shapeshifter. She had been drawn to our place. Others came, a green woman, a woman who’s skin looked like a concert hall inside out. She traveled by playing a violin. The feeling and nuancel directed her vehicle. Ther were many others, but I walked past as they mingled, up to the small shop that was my friend’s home.
“It’s an honourable intent lockout,” I said. He had been conflicted, and had decided to seek revenge. The car could not support that.
He was frustrated, almost indignant, but he knew it made sense. He felt hopeless about it.
“I’m your sidekick. I’m here to help you through this.” He was my friend, and it would take time. The others who came would help. We were not looking for trouble. We just wan to help when situations arise.
Middle of the dream… family and I were meeting up for dinner. The place was similar to a Cracker Barrel, except it was upscale. Lots of wood, but more open space, different kinds of goods, and I think there was a Casino off the other side.
The waiter was someone we know. He called me by name, and I recognized him. I think he was an uncle. I think he was also Gene Hackman.
The table we were seated at, the four of us, was about 2 feet on a side. Basically, food came out one person at a time, except drinks and desserts. Khai had trouble deciding, and I ended up with the grilled salmon because of some change I wanted or would want, was easier on that.
After, we ended up at a Christmas partly. Lots of people, drinking, etc. And then someone died. Cue murder mystery, and before the police arrived, someone figured out the guy’s wife had poisoned him. There were $6m worth of $125k bearer bonds or similar in the stocking, and she wanted them. Except, in the process of explaining this, whomever figured out what happened lost track of the wife. Police showed up, and the wife had slipped away, with the bonds.
At the end, I was unpacking my own stocking. About 20 things in there, including what looked like a small Champagne bottle, with a plastic nozzle on it. It was Chilled Baby Wash. Also, a bottle with what looked like a thin roll of toilet paper on it. It was liquid toilet paper, or butt wash. Several other things in there, but the last present I opened was a phone call. Not a phone. Not a recording of a call. The call itself.
Anyway. I know there was a bunch more I missed. Lighting was dim, and colors were subdued, leaning towards blues, greys, but not exclusively.
In a lab, there’s a gold mine. But, it’s not a mine exactly. It’s a cylinder with rounded edges, about 18″ in diameter, and in length, flat faces up/down, floating about waist height in a room. There’s a pedestal under it. If you approach, you see down into the pedestal into an apparently infinite space. There is a lensing effect around the object, and there are suspended chunks of gold around it of varying sizes. They can be pushed and moved, but they bounce back to their original location. Sometimes they shift and change size on their own.
It’s all fairly industrial: concrete floors, computer stations around the edges, subdued lighting. I notice some primary color pixellation and difraction around the interface edges of the object as we head to a non-containment room, but just figure that’s normal. Through various brainstorms, the object comes to be thought of as aware. It responds to us, but not in a way we understand. Hands near it, and it changes. Time to head out, because we don’t know if it’s safe to stay around it for very long.
The lab manager is my ex girlfriend, or something like that. It’s complicated. She looks just like Gwyneth Paltrow, only a little taller, or maybe I’m a little shorter. I’m not me, but I feel like me. I was removed from the project lead for no real reason, or maybe every reason. But, she’s letting me in because it’s too amazing to keep to herself, and they need help. No one else is making any progress on these. Yes, there’s a second one in another room.
I’m really excited, but GP stops to remind me that everything has to go through her. This is a trial involvement, and I cannot just do things with it, nor make decisions on it. I’m excited, but the limitations are tough. I apologize, say I understand, and blurt out that my thoughts were that a machine could be used to just reach in and scrape out the gold. She completes the sentence with me, and kisses me.
I like it, but something is wrong. I see bits of colored static, smaller pixels than in the containment room, here now too.
I realize the device is a computer of sorts. It’s simulating the universe immediately around us, and so long as we are near it, we are affected by any errors in the simulation.
She sees it, and I ask about “shutting it down”, but no one knows how to. In fact, there’s no one around us. The elevator is open, lit, but does not do anything. There’s a window with curtains, looking out into… a warehouse? What? No, now it’s sunlight, but there are pixels around the borders.
I’ve been thinking about the device, and realize it can read my mind. I name it “Pixels” in my mind, and call out to it in fear and exasperation. Continued realizations, not sudden, gradual, as if I’ve thought of all of the possibilities, and realize it is alive, and our entire universe is a simulation. The simulator is crashing, and the device is trying really hard to preserve us.
Stray specks are showing up in the room. I imagine that they would hurt going through me, but I don’t seem to ever make contact with one. We try to open the windows, but they’re not real. We’re stuck. Only this one last room exists. We cannot even reach the simulation interface anymore. Yes, that’s what the objects are: an interface for controlling the simulation from inside.
We’re frantic, but there does not seem to be anything we can do. As I wake up, I realize we had all moved into the simulation when the universe was winding down for us. Not us, per se, but our many-great grandparents. The universe had finally wound down enough, and there’s no repairing. This was the end of the end.
Looking out the window. The house was my mon’s house, but the garage was Mr. Bridgeforth’s house.
I see a big, blue truck driving up, sideways. The front two wherls are turned sideways, and the back two are off the ground. This way, they pull right up into the driveway.
I get to the inside garage door in time to see the loading ramp fully extended. It bumps into a rectangular folding table, the particle board kind, and then pushes back another inch, compressing/denting.
They deliver whatever it is (cannot see for some reason.) Then, they backbup at an angle and mash into my Flex’s bumper.
“HEY! WATCH OUT!”, I say.
The fork lift guy just says, “No Problem.” It’s heavily accented in local Spanish, and with a big smile.
“Fuck you! It is a problem! Este auto es me babe! Me amo lo!”
“Ehhh. Get a Suburban S.”
Then I woke up.
There was more Spanish but I am not as fluent as my dream self.
I coordinated with Karl and someone named Connor to ride bikes to school together. We go all sorts of ways and get there.
I could not work out using anyone’s chain, and did like Karl and just took my front wheel. Then, I hid my bike under a wooden platform, and worried.
Then, as everyone filtered inside, I realized it was not my school. How would I coordinate classwork? Surely there must be a way, but the bell rang. There is no time for any coordination.
But wait. I’m not in school anymore. I step inside, and time accelerates. Everyone is congregating inside to leave.
I ask Karl why he’s even there, and it’s for the girls. This seems to be HS and university mixed. While the implication is not gross / underage, it’s still early 20s not comfortable to me.
In the dream, there were not really any females. There were a few guys, and then non-descript students.
Someone asks, and I explain why I wasn’t in class… “I’ll be 40 in October, I’m not in school anymore.”
Karl tells the others, “you guys don’t want to know how old I am.”
I ask quietly, “you’ll be 49 this year, right?”
He non-verbally affirms, not really wanting to accept it.
I find Connor’s Engi game pack, but am having a hard time getting his attention to give it to him.
The dream fades into beeps, as the 6:30am iPhone Radar sound goes off…
In the progression of dreams late in this morning, I found myself answering the call of a lower-middle class family for help.
The lady’s aging father had come under control of an additional eye, on the back of his neck.
It was smaller, and it was important that we didn’t let it see us while we inspected.
I looked, and as fairly certain it didn’t see my face, but it did see the top of my head.
When I turned around, I found myself wrapped in big, meaty arms. I could hear his voice in my ear.
The family was greatful; the father was free. Now, i was not.
If I looked down in my peripheral vision, I could SEE the arms clasped alongside my own.
If I struggled, they were much stronger, and I would see a greyness around me.
If I did not, then I could move mostly as I pleased.
“What is your name?”
He said, “Sergio.”
“Where are you from? How old are you?” I asked.
“New York. I was born in the 1800s.” he said, but I saw “1820” in my mind’s eye.
“What do you want?”
“I just want to be left alone,” he responded.
While we spoke, my team had extracted the eye. It was a machine, with five orange-brown colored arms, each looking like a thin version of a bendable microphone stand. At several points was a shiny sphere, and in the center, a small body housing a camera and other electronics. It was not damaged, but it was not moving. I did not feel any injury, though I noticed the meaty arms were messing. I could still speak to him.
“We can try to help you, and to find you.”
He said, “when you do, call this number.”
He had a phone, and would be waiting.
I realized the machine offered him control while it was installed, but it actually implanted a copy of him into anyone it attached to.
There would be no finding him. He was long gone, the real him. However, there were untold copies of him living, trapped, helpless, in the back of the minds of everyone this machine had latched on to.
I felt sad for him.
This morning I wike from a crazy dream. It ended with some guy slashing me with a poisoned dagger, then stabbing my shoulder until it was half way detached. I eoke up, disturbed but not panicked. No pains or odd sensations, though the kids were awake on the computers.
I was at a school in south Arlington. So many little details about the school snd people. It was probably the 1950s but not really. Something happened politically and a small atomic bomb went off to the east.
My mom and I knew it first because we already saw it happen and came back in time to stop it. Unortunately, we could not do anything about it.
My mom had time cloned herself and her clone was going to sacrifice herself. She was calling herself Penny. I was sad, because a already knew that both of them would die.
The school was directly in the wind path, and we could not get anyone to leave. After the blast, it was about sheltering in place.
The VIP room was having breakfast for people who arrived that day. Mom and I had breakfast yesterday, but the selection was better today. McCaffrey’s family was there, and a grandmother who was social, but would reach over and stir someone’s food with her finger, then splash the food, when they were not looking.
I was sad, because I was stuck here, in a second iteration of this horrid day.
I left to go help people, but it was too close. Everyone was doing the same things as last time. A gathering to talk about the conflict, then the boom in the distance.
I walked. I knew my mom was dead, and I figured I could teleport or jaunt home. I couldn’t. I was outside and saw the mushroom cloud on the near horizon, drifting slowly towards us. Maybe it was my upset, or the people around me, but I realized I could not teleport anymore because my mom was dead. Both of them.
I walked home. I had not veen tgere in a long time. I saw transit bussed all along, but they were too slow. Soo many stops. No one knew about the blast but a few people called out that it sort of looked like a mushroom cloud. It was.
I walked into a house that looked like my mom’s, but expanded, rearranged, and renovated very nicely. A nice, big, friendly dog was there. A lady wa on the phone and I mouthed “sorry” to her as I left. No problem. The dog followed me out the screen door.
I was sad, but would be okay.
So I woke up, and it sucked. I was going to call my mom and tell her about it.
Then I remembered she is really dead in real life as of 2005-12-26. It was like a nuclear bomb went off. I don’t think I’ll ever “get over” the death of my mom. I don’t think anyone ever really does. She is the anchor, until she’s not.
But you learn to move on. By now, most days are fine, but once in a while, I’ll indulge the sadness and the memories for a minute. This dream had all of the emotions.
Mom would have loved to see the kids growing up.