The first one was actually very similar to a dream I'd had before. It was a like a modification. In the old dream, I wanted very badly to see someone who was in Paris. I knew it would be an expensive journey, but I figured I could afford one day. So I took a plane, stopping briefly in London before reaching Paris, which I found to be a labyrinthine warehouse of cardboard boxes. I looked a while, but didn't find the girl I was looking for, so I flew back to London and wandered a bit.
London in my dream was composed of very short buildings--at least they appeared to be short on the outside, but the ceilings inside could actually be pretty high over my head. London was filled with chain link fences and neatly trimmed, flat grassy patches. It sort of reminded me of the scene in V for Vendetta where Finch visits the Larkhill camp, although there weren't any naked, dismembered corpses. Finally, I went home.
That was the old dream. The new version was the same, except I got stuck in London after coming back from France. No one was able to tell me why, but the planes weren't leaving. I wasn't able to find any place to change my money, so I wandered the streets, waiting, and it got dark. I started noticing enormous black tentacles with pink auras sprouting up from the ground, destroying the city, but people mostly weren't noticing them.
In my second dream last night, I was playing a game with a bunch of people. We all had mediaeval weapons--I had a dagger--and we were chasing each other around a place that sometimes seemed like a featureless, white walled rat's maze, and other times there seemed to be couches and furniture, like a house. Whenever a player caught someone, it was understood that one of the two would have to die. No one seemed bothered by this--it was part of the game.
I tackled a girl in a strapless, white taffeta dress with a wide, sash-like, dark gold belt with a metal, hoop buckle. I had her pinned to a couch, and I told her I didn't want to kill her.
"Oh, you have to," she said, smiling as though it was the most trivial thing in the world. "Just get on with it."
I ran my dagger across her throat, but not hard enough to break skin. I just left a little red mark.
"I really don't want to kill you," I said.
She sighed impatiently. "You have to, it's the rules. Look, how about you give me a really bad wound and I just get fixed up later. Okay?"
"I guess that would be okay . . ."
"Okay . . . Just stab me in the stomach, then. They can fix that."
"Okay." In my dream, it seemed perfectly reasonable.
"But don't stain my dress." She tore it open at the stomach, lifting the belt, and I stuck the dagger in her soft belly. She started coughing thickly, dark blood rolled out of her, and of course she died.
I went to prison. I didn't really care if anyone thought I was trying to kill her or not. I'd killed her, and it didn't seem to matter to me whether or not I'd meant to.
When did my dreams get to be so melodramatic? Sheesh. Well, I will say that I never actually felt too badly about what was happening. Believe it or not, I'm actually in a very good mood to-day.