I’ve been having some cracker dreams lately. I always dream, every single night, and for me not to dream is a really big thing. My dreams are normally in colour too, or well I think they are, or seem to be… I wonder if that’s just a play on my imagination? As a kid I had nightmares every so often and as an adult, probably even more so.
Last nights dream was a weird one, not as weird as some, but for sure it’s not quite right.
It was warm, and breezy. I remember the trees and leaves gently blowing in the street I’m walking along. My dark curly hair bouncing around my shoulders. It’s like I can just shut my eyes and I am back there, in that street, meandering along, watching the leaves rustle and the sun glare off the shop windows. The sun warming my face. The big elm trees shading the dark asphalt path, while a dry, littered cobblestone gutter ran along the street beside me. People walking beside me in a hurry, others sitting at tables drinking lattes and sucking back their cigarettes talking about the fat lady sitting across the street.
I blink and I find myself up in one of the elm trees, looking down onto the street, cars passing by under me, people strolling beneath my feet. No fear, just sitting and watching, perhaps waiting? My busy patterned red and yellow skirt hitched up around my hips, hanging and flapping in the breeze showing my panties. Really? Showing my panties? A conscious thought that I would never do that skirts around the edges of my mind. Scratchy bark prickling the backs of my bare legs.
Dropping to the ground I’m transported to a dark wet market scene. Mud squelching under my feet, my hair stuck to my head wet, flat and sodden. Shivers of cold. An uneasiness crept into my dream, I know I’m dreaming, but its all so real. It lurked by, nudging the nape of my neck. Licking my lips I can taste blood. Stopping under a dripping canvas tent I wipe my mouth with my finger tips. Red smudged across the ends of my fingers. The pain, the unwelcome movement in my mouth, the sharp flick of ‘something’.
Swallowing back a mouthful of thick, bloody saliva, gagging as that something tries to exit through the back of my throat. What is that? Coughing into my hand a fragment of tooth falls into my bloodied palm. Around me I sense confusion, people with rushed voices and hurried commands. My skirt is heavy and stuck to my legs, and I realise I hate my legs. Grabbing inside my mouth, my fingers probe.
I watch myself pull the rest of my hollowed out incisor from my mouth, like porcelain, fine and fragile. Shards crumbling between my fingers. Panic as I clawed at my gums. A gaping black hole took over my face and all I saw was black and blood. Black and blood. Black and blood. Eyes stretched wide and contorted. Horror gripped me and then rage followed. I howled like some ungodly animal, retching and writhing, swinging my head back and forth like a crazed maniac.
The dark whirred around the raving woman who I was watching, particles of her tooth flying around like debris in a wind storm. Is that me? Is that someone else? I don’t have a skirt like that. I don’t have curly hair. The tormented moans softening to sobbing.
And then it was gone.
I guess I could dissect that, and come up with numerous explanations for what this dream meant. Do I want to do that, I don’t think so, but what really gets me is that I dream about my teeth all the time.
Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!