Hey, gang. Your friendly neighbourhood Numbers guy here with another of my posts about a dream I've had. I've been having some rather fun dreams lately, often involving old friends I haven't seen for years, but last night's one was unusual enough for me to want to write it down.
I think my last dream-related blog entry was around Christmastime, when I had one about my at-the-time girlfriend. We're not together anymore, but in last night's dream, we were, and closer than we were in real life. Before going to bed, I had to deal with some chucklefuck trolls on a message board (not GB or any Whiskey ones, mind you), and I think that might have made its way into the dream. In the dream, I was working as a comedian in a hip nightclub, possibly influenced by the time I spent playing Grim Fandango recently. The club was owned and operated by a villain from the Knight Rider episode "The Topaz Connection." I think that's what it was called. You know, the one with the embassy. He had an assistant in black follow him around who was really more of a crony.
The club was built as a tower, with the upper levels restricted for special guests and decorated with all kinds of art from the boss' homeland. It looked like the insides of the walls of the building were covered with clay in order to make it look like a house from his native country, and intricately painted. My girlfriend and I had a room up in this area; I lived there as well as worked in the club. Possibly there was something more sinister going on involving the boss having control over my fate.
That night, there was some kind of community event. A banquet hall was filled with people and the hostess looked an awful lot like Felicia Day, who wore a light blue shirt that pleasingly contrasted with her stunning red hair. I had a show to do, but for some reason, I couldn't find a part of my costume. My girlfriend and I had a very messy room and there was clothing everywhere, but I couldn't find the black dress shirt that I was supposed to the wear. The Boss dressed in fancy suits and liked order; he expected those who worked for him to be presentable and professional. But there I was fumbling through piles of clothes in black pants and a bright orange t-shirt.
But the show had to go on. I grabbed a dark green windbreaker and met with the boss, who was displeased to say the least. He slowly walked me around his clay-walled homeland-painted area, assistant in tow, listening to my excuse. I made up a story about how the jacket was part of the act; how I would talk about the plight of the working class, or something like that. I tried to use the hand-crafted art of his country to back me up, talking about fighting oppression and shit, how he had to work hard to overcome obstacles, too, so he knew what I was talking about. I guess it turned out that he was part of the ethnic group responsible for the socio-economic turmoil in his country and keeping the working class down (which would explain how he extorted money from them with his swanky nightclub), so didn't care for my story. Yet the smug grin on his face never left. He and his assistant walked me to an ominous-looking stairwell.
I'd really done it this time. He'd had enough of my bullshit, and I was fucked. He was kicking me out, meaning I was out of a job and a place to stay, but he had other plans for my girl. He had his arm around my shoulder, real pally, and I knew this mobster was going to end me. Down the hall, Felicia was in the doorway of the banquet hall and could see us. Though the Boss talking to one of his employees wouldn't have looked suspicious at all.
The stairway was some kind of walk of shame. Rather than an elevator down, it was a rickety old spiral staircase that wasn't illuminated and didn't even have a railing. I'd probably slip and fall to my death descending it. I had to act fast.
The Boss had his back to me, introducing the walk of shame with a fancy monologue. Kick me out? Howsabout vice-versa? I put my shoe on his back and pushed as hard as I could. There was no railing to the stairs, so he fell down the hollow center of the stairwell's tower (the stairs were attached to the wall and not a column in the middle), but the screaming stopped before he hit the bottom. Probably snapped his neck on a step on the way down.
The assistant was in shock and I had to make the most of it. I grabbed him and threw him through the doorway, sending him in the darkness where he plunged to his death as well. It was a staircase built purely to punish those who'd crossed the Boss, so it wasn't patrolled or monitored, but surely the Boss' absence wouldn't go unnoticed for long. I looked to my left and saw Felicia in the doorway. If she was paying attention, she'd have seen the whole thing. But she wasn't. She was just checking if anyone else was coming to the banquet and shut the door, oblivious to what had just unfolded.
I didn't think about killing them. I just acted out of instinct. I'm not typically a violent sociopath, so I'm not sure where the hell that "us or them" double-murder action came from. I guess things were worse off in the dream world than I knew. Maybe I just didn't want them to kill me, and certainly didn't want them to get a hold of my girlfriend. Still, having killed the Boss and his assistant, the rest of his cronies would be looking for me. I had to make myself scarce, blow town.
I went back to my room to get a bag, stuff it with the few belongings I'd take with me, and to get my girlfriend. We had to escape, that night. She was in bed, covers over her head. She didn't want to see me. She didn't even want to say goodbye. (Appropriately enough, this is eerily similar to how we broke up in real life.) Somehow, she'd known what I'd done and didn't want to run. Not with me, anyway.
This is when I woke up.