Dream Info: August 2009
Realism Intensity: 2
Content: G
Realism Intensity: 2
Content: G
I stood at a window in our town’s junior high school. Outside was the main street, then open stretching desert to the distant mountains which were blocked by ominous black clouds. The sky was a color I had never seen before. This was no ordinary storm, just as she had warned.
As the rain crashed down out in the desert I walked into a bathroom. David Bowie sat in a stall dressed in an orange jumpsuit.
“David, you know I’ve got to keep your stall shut. You are supposed to be in jail,” I said.
David Bowie rolled his eyes. “Yes, but there is no space. I get claustrophobic with the stall door closed. Do we really need to continue this parody of justice?”
I pushed the door closed. “Lock it.”
David Bowie sighed and I heard the click as the metal pole slid into the stall frame.
“Thanks,” I said. “This is the best we have right now. So yes, the parody continues…”
I walked over to a stall and started to take off my clothes. There was a shower here and it had been several days since my last. Several days since we had herded the whole town into this school to hide out and wait for what? They had no idea but had listened to my urges. And I, well I scarcely believed the reason myself.
The dull drumming of rain beating down on the roof filled the bathroom. There was a rumble and the ground shook. The lights went out.
I paused and then pulled out my flash light. It was at this moment that I realized I had forgotten to bring my towel. So much for my shower. I had better go out and check on the rest of the folks anyway.
I slipped on my clothes and stepped out from the stall. There was another rumble; bigger this time. It was hard to describe, but there was an odd quality to the shaking ground. It was unlike any movement I had ever felt before.
“Trevor,” A thin female voice whispered. “It is time.” My hair stood on end. I shone the light around the bathroom frantically but knew I wouldn’t see her. David Bowie opened his stall door and our eyes met.
“I heard that too,” he said.
I nodded, resigned. David stood up and walked out of the bathroom. I followed.
Outside the sun was clear and low on the horizon. The mass of black clouds had vanished. Plenty of townsfolk were milling around just outside the school’s doors.
I walked over to Ryan Nilsen, Trisha Hulet, and the mayor (a lady I don’t know in real life). “Well, in this break of the weather we need to go get (I named a woman) from the town over.”
The mayor nodded, then said, “The land is mighty wet right now. Shouldn’t we wait?
Ryan asked, “What do you mean break in the weather? There are no clouds anywhere.”
“That is so weird,” Trisha added.
“Now,” I said, catching David Bowie’s eye. “It is best if we get her now.”
David Bowie’s look told me this was the understatement of the century.
So Ryan rounded up some friends and trudged off into the thick mud. The other town was actually just a small trailer park a mile out into the desert. Though there were no paved roads to it he’d be back soon enough.
Someone must have called the woman because I had just stepped back to the school when the mayor announced she was already coming. I turned to see an old RV struggling around a muddy bend in the road. Yes, that was her. David Bowie stepped up beside me as we watched her come. This was really it. Hard to believe what with the clouds gone and the sky back.
The city council had scheduled this meeting a week before. This was all just routine. That is what the town thought; a routine meeting about city affairs. And perhaps about the odd weather.
But David Bowie and I knew. To save our towns from destruction we were going to kill this woman. We had to. It had been prophesied.
