The Church

All of a sudden I find myself inside a massive Catholic Dome. It is ancient. The walls carved out of living stone and intricately decorated. 

It is quite dark. It is also quite holy. The sacred remains of some Saint are held in a special Sanctuary inside the Church. 

I go with my mother and brother towards the Sanctuary. We descend some stairs and are before the massive doors into the Saint’s chamber. There is a massive queue of people coming in from the other side. The priest opens the doors and let us in. Sky high ceilings greet us with a sepulchre in the middle of the room. The exposed body of the Saint lies in state. 

It is very solemn. There is not a sound. The line of people starts advancing towards the chamber. We go up some stairs and rejoin the main Church. 

There are ancient books to one side. As my mum and brother go to another part of the massive building, I go with Maurice towards the books. 

There are old engineering texts, written by the grand masters themselves. The foundations of our profession, preserved for all generations to behold. 

Maurice points me towards an imposing volume. It is the most ancient and sacred of texts. It is supposed to have engineering knowledge, and indeed it does, but it also has curses and rites of human sacrifice. The book scares me. I move forward to the part about Tolkien, the great literary master, but I never find it. I simply stumble across more and more horrifying texts. 

I put the book away. As I look around I see that the Church is empty. It is about to close. With horror I realise that if we do not hurry and exit the building we’d be spending the night in this place. This unwholesome place. For I did not feel God’s Blessing inside, but a constant unease as my body and soul felt under threat. 

I walk briskly past the sanctuary and the priests and rejoin the main crowd, leaving the building. 

As I exit the buildig into the darkness I wake up half dozed and groggy. It is still dark and I fall asleep uneasily once again…


London Under Siege

I am walking down the beach towards a London which is partly underwater. Not flooded, simply built underwater. There imposing cliffs to the right, with the sparkling city beneath the crystalline waves. 

I plunge and start swimming towards a cluster of buildings. Suddenly two torpedoes speed by. They impact buildings which crumble. 

Alarm horns start blaring, the city is under attack!

I am no longer underwater but atop a building. Running on the rooftops. A voice is heard from the sky. If we want salvation we have to climb high. 

The buildings start to collapse. As they do so, shards of concrete are projected into the sky. A swarm of people desperately tries to climb up, to reach ever higher ground. 

Massive mechanical arms start shooting down, tearing into buildings. I look around and see a scene of mayhem around me. 

The alarm bell rings. I wake up. 

The Recurring Nightmare

I blink in and out of consciousness. Too aware of his presence. His twisted smile grinning across my mouth, baring my own teeth at me. 
His voice. His terrible voice. “I’m here. I’m back” and then those eyes. Those manic, psychopathic eyes of a murderer. 
I get up. Unwilling to go to bed. I goto the bathroom. I feel his presence get stronger. I can hear him laughing inside my head. He flips our head backwards and opens the eyes wide staring at the ceiling. 
No! I can control him. He won’t take over. Then, as I wash my hands, I look in the mirror and He is there. His eyes and shadows making that dreaded X shape. He narrows the eyes. He breathes in and out heavily. 
His angry voice comes. 
“I am here. Your chemical prison cannot contain. I am growing stronger and soon you will not be able to stop me!” He roared inside my head. 
I resist the urge to shatter the mirror with my head. I force myself to look away. I shake my head and force him into the background. 
I am afraid to sleep. Afraid he will come during the night. Afraid one day, I will not be able to control him and let him loose upon the streets…

Fire at the Memorial

I am at an Italian’s party, with his sister. The father is refusing to serve any more alcohol because the people are getting rather drunk. Morning arrives and the father discovers me with the woman. He is rather upset. I make a run for it towards the van that is waiting on the road. We quickly load up and drive.

We get to Muhammad Ali’s memorial park. It is a mixture of concrete and plants. Suddenly I see a fire start. It begins to spread and consumes most of the park. My uncle quickly sets off the sprinklers on one side, to prevent the fire from spreading there.

I am now in a flat above the park. A mixture of smoke and water vapour is coming in through the vents. A group of local police is there, annoyed at the sprinklers. They had set fire to the Memorial. As I realise this, I discreetly call other authorities to request help.

The arsonists find out. Guns come out. I quickly rush downstairs and out of the building. From the street I can see the balcony. I see special ops trying to beat up my uncle who is dousing the flames. My uncle is old and frail, rage starts to consume me as I witness the injustice. Knowing I will need proof further on, I film it.

I decide to go into the building to confront them. As I walk across the intersection a car rams me. I get up and continue towards the building. Special ops gets out of his car and pulls out his gun. He grabs me and places me in a neck hold. I manage, somehow, to get inside the building. The owner of the restaurant on the first floor is not having it. She pulls out a stick and starts beating the special ops. Her daughter, the Italian’s sister, joins the fray and locks the doors. The special ops is subdued and locked in a wall compartment.

Finally, help arrives. We unlock the door and let him in. After a while I get suspicious and realise he is a baddie undercover. With a shotgun someone on our side gets his head blown off. He turns the shotgun towards me.

I look up. I can see through the floors to where my family is. They hear our screams and cry in pain.

Sci-fi Extravaganza

I am taking care of baby Nico. At work. It makes no sense. I know I am at work, yet I am with baby Nico on a terrace. My mate from work Dan is talking about moving to the French coast on Normandy, however when he shows me the picture it looks a lot like Barcelona. 

We leave early on a trip with the babies. The boss says it counts as a business trip which is good.  I switch Nico for an older baby because the activity with the other baby is more interesting. After walking/hovering/teleporting to where we split up, Nico becomes grumpy and speaks to everyone except me. 

His activity boards him on a sail ship, crewed by the German navy. The ship then goes into outer space. They win (no idea what, but they win). When they tow the ship back through space the English crew inside the ship is received like heroes in England. The Germans are not and they go get drunk, led by their captain, who looks suspiciously like Jurgen Klopp. Then they realise the English are treated like heroes. They rally their crew and march on the town. Where their ship is waiting. Another mission. 

They set off again (no idea what happened to Nico at this point, I totally lost him).  The German and English crews  are both on board. The new mission is to conquer a new planet.

We land on the planet. There is a dirt road arriving at a wider mud road. There are some plants on the land and a gate. We walk through it and the locals arrive. Fighting ensues. The Germands are desperately trying to hold them back, but retreating with every step. Cue me with a flamethrower on each arm. 

“Aaaaarrhhhhhh,” I yell with a bloddthirsty, frenzied passion.  

I wake up

The Graduation Party

I am at my graduation party in Suisse Romande, with Anna, Nicole and a girl I seem to know, whom I thought was german but in the dream is French or Swiss French. She is very beautiful. Maybe she isn’t the girl I know? Anyway, I would really like to go out with her. It appears she didn’t get married after all. This makes me happy until I learn she left on holiday.

Everyone was leaving. I was walking down the stairs and I saw half a bus with people I knew inside. They were discussing the people who left.

Suddenly the girl becomes Anna. I start to discuss about her with the people inside the half bus.

“How is she?” a girl asked.

“She has gone away,” I replied.


“Who?” asked a second girl.

“Anna,” replied a third girl who was part of the initial conversation.

“Was she a fat one?” the second girl asked.

“No but her cheeks got pink when she was going uphill.” Said the first girl.

“She was very pinky. She was the one that you know, at the altar…” I said. I recall that it timed out. That’s why they didn’t get married. Her fiancé didn’t seem to care. I feel like I have a chance with her.

“Oh, that’s horrible!” exclaimed the second girl.

I decide to go to Paris to look for her. I float to the southern border of the country and there is an almost cartoon like image of a gate. A pink tank on either side. They are shooting at each other. A motorcycle and men on foot.

“That is the description of any war,” i say to myself.

Then the side inside the gates rolls over them and runs over the first tank. They continue to advance.

I hear a voice in the sky, like a narrator of an old documentary, “..but then, as the guard is out, a new modern threat moves in.” Suddenly, these black clad, hooded mean with curved, crusade period arabic swords move over the hill, yelling.

All of this still as a 2D cartoon.

I am not floating anymore, I am there. I am scared. I start to panic. I run. A sword captures my calf. Excruciating pain.

“No, no, no!” I yell.

I have to wake up! I open my eyes and I’m in bed. I turn on the light. I am very tense. I can feel all the muscles in my body tightening up. I take the blanket off but suddenly it grows. The black clad beings are inside. Panic! I try to squash the blankets to make them disappear. It keeps growing. I fall off the bed and yell. Did I yell in reality? Or just in the dream?

I wake up (for real this time) and turn on the light.

It is 5:30 in the morning. The alarm is set for 6. I am scared of falling asleep again.

A field of dreams

I walk groggily through a forest. There is lots of fog, however it appears to be inside my eyes rather than outside. I blink repeatedly, it does not clear. I hear a rumbling, a great big Diesel engine, coming my way. It is a tank. An old, WWII tank.

My heart sinks. I’m in a battlezone again. I must be dreaming. My heart rate increases: I know what’s coming. I try to stay calm. All I can now hear is my heart pounding in my chest. My vision starts to acquire a reddish tint as my eyes become bloodshot. I blink and shake my head.

I can see clearly now. All of a sudden the ear plugs are removed from my ears and I can hear the distinctive sounds of battle. I know them only too well, despite never having been on one, never having been a soldier, nor seen war first hand. Yet…those dreams, those eternal, recurring dreams. They are like memories, as vibrant as if I had lived them first hand.

I start moving across the forest. I notice I am not alone. A woman to my right is making hand gestures, trying to give me instructions. To no avail. I do not understand what she means. Not in the slightest. I walk towards her.

“We have to regroup,” I say to her.

“It’s too dangerous,” she replied.

I start breathing heavily, nervousness creeping in.

“I must know who is still with us.” I say in a somewhat commanding tone.

She nods. Another hand gesture. Ten people materialise out of the shadows of the forest.

“Sir, we await your instructions. The enemy has taken up higher ground and is ready to execute the prisoners.” I can’t quite tell who said this, but it sounded real.

“Right, we attack,” I reply, without knowing where I am getting my confidence. I must know something about war if I am in this dream and people are obeying my command. They seem ready to follow me, so I must act on instinct, hoping my subconscious knows what I am doing.

We move forward across what is now the battlefield. We have left the forest behind us. There are broken down buildings and ruins scattered across the landscape. Abandoned cars and dirt roads. It appears I am in Second World War Europe. Why, I have no clue.

The shots start. My heart rate increases. My muscles tense. I can feel myself cramping and curling into a ball in bed. The physical pain is excruciating. I seem to be able to continue to move through the battlefield despite the shots.

Two of my men are injured. Shot. As good as dead. Crying in agony and pain. Their screams fill my eadrums. Dread comes over me. NO! I must react like a soldier, or I, too, will perish.

“The prisoners are in that building over there,” I said, pointing in a very specific direction, to a large building across the war-torn town. I do not know how I know this, I just do.

We move forward, running towards the line of buildings, shooting as we go along. War is raging all around us. The enemies die. We seem to continue without casualties. As I run and shoot, I become more instinctive, it starts to feel natural, like I’ve done this before. In a past life maybe?

The yelling and screaming is incessant. Bombs explode here and there. Orders are shouted. Calls for help and reinforcement are heard. We are making progress. I get shot. Once. Twice. More times than I can count. I still move. I bleed, but not enough to die. It’s a dream. You don’t die that easily in dreams.

We reach the main building, where the prisoners are held. It is my wife and daughters…only, I am not married, but I know in my heart it is my wife. The one I will meet one day.

The warrior wells up inside me. I stretch my shoulders upwards and outwards. I feel invincible. Every shot I make hits its target. I move through the crowd of enemies like a master assassin. I am unstoppable. Until I reach the big baddy. The commander. He shoots me point blank. In the chest. I die. Surely, I must die. It all goes black. But no, it is a dream. I am in control. I think to myself: in your dream you can survive being shot point blank. I open my eyes. I can see again. I am not dead. I go on.

Shot. Again. Die. Again. Excruciating pain. Again. Curl up into a ball in the bed. Again. The lactic acid is pumping through my body. I will myself to live again. I open my eyes inside the dream once more. I am about to reach my family, about to save them. I get shot.

I wake up. Breathing heavily, scared and feeling the aching muscles of the action they have undergone. I turn on the lamp. I look around. It was just a dream. A nasty dream. I try to calm down.

My eyes feel heavy, they want to sleep again. I can’t let that happen. If I sleep I will go to another war zone. I can’t face that anymore. Not again.

I lose the battle and fall asleep…