Flight of the Argonauts: Part 3 of 3

Dream Info: November 18, 1998
Realism Intensity: 3
Content: R

The third dream in this Sequence: While not required, reading the first part will help explain some of the significances of this dream.

Part III:

Three large wood frigates floated out bay doors in the side of a giant rust colored building. This building sat perched on the top of a stony mountain. These ships unfurled their sails, turned south, and soared through the air heading over the jagged mountain range. After the ships crossed the last peaks they slowly sank through the air towards the meandering river lying thousands of feet below in the fertile valley. The huge ships plunged into the wide river, causing their hulls to shake and groan; the bow dipped and then leveled. Water splashed over the sides. The frigates continued down the river and into the ocean.

I stood on the bow of the lead ship as we sailed towards the horizon. I watched the jagged mountains that had filled the sky slowly shrink and eventually vanish.

I was on my way. I was one step closer to finding her. I was running out of places to search.

The passengers were all gathering to one side of the boat. Curious, I thrust my way through the crowd. A large rock formation, barely breaking the surface of the water, lay off our portside. On the rocks lay a large mass of walruses. All the tourists were snapping pictures hurriedly. I laughed to myself.

Let them get excited about the walruses I thought. I just wanted to sleep. To this point it had already been a long voyage.

I woke to a crewmember shaking me urgently. He told me to abandon ship, that we had been attacked. How was that possible when I had not heard a thing? I dressed and rushed topside; my mind still in a sleepy daze. All was a blur. I found myself, when my mind finally cleared its fog, hanging onto the bottom of a giant blimp. I was at the back and near the large propellers that lifted the craft into the sky. Behind us, the top of our ships masts struck out of the sea at an odd angle. The ship was sinking. Of the other two, there was no sign.

As I looked around I noticed the captain was next to me and looked none too happy. Hundreds of people from our ship were dangling from the bottom of the craft’s thin metal frame. But something was wrong. The front of the blimp had ripped free from the frame and had just caught fire. The wind, hitting in gusts, blew the flaming fabric wildly about. In this turbulence many people fell to the frothy water, which I just noticed was not very far below.

Quickly enough the fire was extinguished. Too much of the crafts’ balloon had burned and we were losing altitude. We were only about hundred feet in the air and slowly going down. The pilot knew we were in trouble and was steering the airship back in a direction that must have been towards land. We passed over the rock outcropping covered with walruses, but this time the tourists were too panicked to notice. I swung around the craft trying to comfort people as the captain yelled orders above to the pilot who struggled to keep the craft in the air. Now and then someone’s arms gave out and they fell to the water below. Some resurfaced and could be seen swimming weakly. Some hit the water and were never seen again.

Time dragged along and the water drew closer. There: we saw the shore and the jagged mountains farther in with the sun lighting their tops. Not a moment too soon, either. Our feet we skimming the tops of the waves. The craft was still a good way out. A large wave rose high enough to grab the legs of the people in the front, dragging the whole airship suddenly down. It crashed into the rolling waves dangerously trapping many people under it.

I swam under the sinking craft, pulling people out to safety as the water pushed us towards the inlet of a narrow bay, almost a fjord.

The current swept survivors to an island pressed up against the base of some cliffs. Sea lions lined the beach and up on the grassy center stood a group of large buffalo. Many of the survivors tried to climb onto the island, but the inhabitant sea lions rushed anyone attempting to crawl to safety. Many of the passengers tried to swim across the main part of the fjord, but the current was far too strong and swept them away. This island was our only chance for rest.

One of the sea lions stood up and addressed us.

“This is our beach. There is no room for you.” It said in a gruff voice.

“Please, let us on your island temporarily.” I said to it. “We have swum from out in the ocean and are extremely tired. We’ll only use the very northern tip of the island.”

It thought about this.

“Only the tip,” Growled the sea lion in acceptance.

All of the survivors crawled onto the beach of this island and lay on the rocky shore. Everything went well until some teenagers, who had recovered from the ordeal, wanted more room to sprawl out. More room: like the sandy beach the sea lions were sleeping on. A group started throwing rocks at the sea lions. More and more people joined the group trying to move the creatures off the sandy beach. The people yelled, “off dumb animals,” and threw rocks. One rock flew wide and hit a grazing buffalo. It grunted, then turned and kicked a large rock off the ground. The rock shot through the air like a cannon ball and hit one of the members of the crowd square in the chest. The person dropped to the ground dead. This only made the people angrier. They threw more rocks and started moving forward, aggressively herding the sea lions and buffaloes to one corner of the island.

The captain and I looked at each other. We knew we had just worn out our welcome. The captain ran to gather the crew together and left me to attempt to herd the passengers back.

One young man had rushed ahead of the mob and was waving a large stick at the animals, yelling “This island is for us now. You can swim, you stupid animals.” A large buffalo was slowly meandering away and the man whacked it in the rear angrily. The buffalo swung around and rammed the man in the chest. The man dropped the stick and held on to the buffalo’s head as it swung him around wildly. Luckily the man had fit in-between the horns nicely and no matter how hard the buffalo shook or jerked its’ head the man was able to keep its horns from spearing him.

After a few seconds of vain thrashing, the buffalo also realized this. It stopped shaking the man around and stood up on its hind legs. With its massive front legs it grabbed the man. The buffalo thrust him through his horns, impaling and killing him instantly. It then pulled off the limp and bleeding body and threw it at the mob of people, which knocked many over. The crowd stood in shock. Then, the large buffalo charged.

All was lost. No one heeded my cries. I surrender hope and worried about saving myself. I dove into the water, swam the twenty feet or so across to the base of the cliff and pulled myself onto a ledge slightly above the water. Surprisingly I found the ledge I was on was made of rusty metal and had a dirty hatch in it. I tried to open it but couldn’t. I then realized that it was a bathroom drain for the complex we had launched from on the other side of the mountains. If someone would just flush a toilet the hatch would open, the refuse would gush out, and I could crawl in. That hatch was safety.

I turned back to the island and saw that the animals were rampaging everywhere. Many of the passengers were diving into the main part of the fjord where the fast flowing swept them away.

A large buffalo strolled to the edge of the island and glared at me. It stood up on its hind legs and inched into the water. It was coming for me. As it approached, I pried at the hatch frantically.



A woman lay dead. Her blood ran through her beautiful blonde hair dying it red. Her shapely figure lay crumpled in one of the bathroom stalls in the rusty complex on the other side of the mountains. Her purse had fallen open in the struggle and its contents were scattered all over the bathroom floor. A man with black gloves bent over the body, shifting though documents and wallet eagerly. All gold and jewels he collected he slipped into his pocket. Documents he slid into a small black bag.

The woman had not had time to flush the toilet.

Flight of the Argonauts: Part 1 of 3

Dream Info: November 18, 1998
Realism Intensity: 3
Content: PG-13

We stood to the side of the door as we rang the bell and cocked our guns. We raised and readied them. My partner, a blond with a serious face and an incredible figure, and I had been sent with one objective. She nodded to me. I jumped to the door, kicked it down, and dove in rolling on my back and shooting. The man at the table was killed instantly; my partner was at my side and had taken out the other man coming from the bathroom. No attempts at negotiating. No chance for our targets to escape. Our objective had been achieved easily; this time.

A few hours later we found ourselves being drawn into a small café at the mall. We were both exhausted from the day’s mission. It was my partner’s treat this time, and as she paid for the coffee I grabbed a small table.

We sat sipping our coffee and discussing the latest news. She was commenting on how ugly the new bell bottom pants, the current fashion, were when I spilled coffee in my lap; she laughed. I jumped up in pain—

There were loud shouts and a few shots from the lower mall floor out in the hall. We looked at each other and darted out the café door. I looked over the railing as two men sprinted by below. My gun was in my hand in a flash and I squeezed the trigger gently. Nothing happened. My partner pulled out her gun and took out both of them cleanly, just as they were entering the parking garage. I jerked the trigger several times extremely hard and my pistol finally shot.

“It wasn’t my fault! I fired! Nothing happened! My gun has a malfunction.” She glared at me disbelievingly as I sputter this out. We both knew we had state-of-the-art weapons, the best the government could make, and they did not just ‘malfunction.’

The next day at the mall again.

Three men in pinstriped suits calmly stepped into a large see-through elevator and rode to the next floor as I dashed around the corner. I frantically hit at the doors as they exited on the floor above. The elevator zoomed down, and the giant light-blue doors finally allowed me access. I pushed the button and the elevator shot upward and as it came to the next floor and stopped I jumped to get that flying feeling (As I always do in an elevator), only then did I realize that this was one of the new low-grav lifts. I jumped and didn’t come down. I kicked wildly as the door opened revealing the three men breaking into a shop at the side of the to the side of the elevator. My foot finally found the wall of the elevator and I propelled myself out the door, only I was ten feet up in the air. I crashed to the ground, rolled, flipped, rolled again— dodging their fire. All the while I was aiming at them and pulling my trigger. It would click but nothing would come out.

I had crossed the hall, rolling and jumping, and was now opposite the mobsters. As I jumped backwards my gun started working and I shot the three mobsters as I crashed through a large glass window. I had not been shot once. As I got to my feet and climbed back out the window, I noticed my partner with her arms folded leaning against the opposite wall glaring at me.

She suddenly grabbed and shook me. The elevator had just passed carrying more gangsters.

“The other group,” She yelled.

I rushed down the stairs to try to head them off. She ran to the other elevator and sat impatiently waiting for it to come down.

I ran to the bottom floor just as the elevator reached it. I quickly jumped onto the railing at the bottom of the stairs right next to the elevator so the gangsters would not see me as quickly.

The door opened and the men exited, stopped, and all stared at me on the railing frantically pulling the trigger on my gun. Their bald leader walked up to me; I kept my gun pointed at his head as I continued to pull the trigger, but nothing happened.

“Well well, Mr. Parker. It is so nice to see you again.” The lead gangster laughed, signaling his henchmen to kill me. They raised their guns, aimed, and dropped dead. The leader turned as my trusty partner shot him; he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Once again she gave me a glare that could freeze boiling water. I attempted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. I stood there opening and closing my mouth with a stupid frown on my face.

Suddenly the elevator started upward. Four more gangsters could be seen through the glass on the upper floor. We darted down the stairs to the lower floors; the stairs jackknifed every ten steps.

We passed through the lower floor, which happened to be a library, and my partner continued her descent, however I stopped on the library level and looked up the stairs to see where the gangsters were. The goons were catching up quickly. I knew I had to descend faster so I hopped over the railing to fall to the jackknife below. But as I landed with a thud, I realized that somehow I was still on the library floor. I’d jumped over the railing, fallen, and landed right where I had just jumped from. What?

I darted away from the stairs to hide behind one of the chest high bookcases that were scattered across the giant room, as I did so I noticed another staircase on the opposite side of the library.

I heard a shout and turned to see my partner at the stairs yelling, “Trevor! Come on!”

“Get outta here. They’re on top of us!” I shouted, but instead of going down the stairs, she started towards me. “No,” I continued. “Get down the stairs! Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. You just get back to HQ… NOW!”

With that, she darted down the stairs with one last worried glance at me. The gangsters reached the floor and split into two groups, two after me, two continuing down the stairs after her.

I dove behind a bookcase further to the back of the room. All the bystanders continued looking at their books as if nothing was going on. I scanned for the two men hunting me, but couldn’t find them. I was in a bad situation.

I ran, crouched, to another bookcase somewhat closer to the stairs. I peeked around the side of the case, nothing. Instinct told me that the men were behind me, so with a smile on my face, I stood up and turned. Sure enough, a gangster was three feet away with his gun pointed at my head. His friend was a bookcase away smiling at me.

I struck the gun out of the first goons’ hand with lightening speed. It clattered to the ground a few feet away, but he didn’t even attempt to go after it. He lowered his hand and just stood there, a smile cracked his lips.

It suddenly came to mind that I had not been watching the back staircase at the opposite side of the library. Instinct told me again what to expect as I turned. Once again, I found myself staring guns aiming at my face. Four gangsters had entered. A person pushed by one of them and walked up to me.

Smiling, she said, “Hello Mr. Parker. You’ve been a thorn in my side for far to long. You’ve killed some of my best men, and I’m just glad that I’ll be the one who gets the honor of killing you. Lord knows how many of my mob bosses would pay for this honor.”

Susan Packer turned and coughed before finishing. “Yes, and don’t worry, your little friend will not escape either. What was her name?”

Just as Susan said that last line, a violent but quick barrage of gun shots echoed into the room from the floors below. Then there was silence.

“Oh well, I guess her name’s not important now,” Susan laughed.

I screamed and collapsed to the floor. Everything went black. The goons moved closer to get a better look at my anguish.

Blue Boys

Dream Info: Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Realism Intensity: 4 (out of 10)
Content: PG

I sat watching the sunrise over the towering desert mountains. My tent flaps slapped in the brisk wind. It was a beautiful morning.

As the others crawled out of their tents I reflected on our trip. This was the fifth day we had been on the planet. We had been dropped off near a large city to the east. There were tall, empty skyscrapers battered by years of neglect. One had a jagged hole in its middle looking as though something long ago had struck it.

Our scans had shown no sentient life. Whoever had built these cities had vanished long ago. The cities had sat silent for centuries.

Our small group of five had spent several days exploring the city. We took pictures, samples, and the frequent holographic video. We had then moved west into the dry wilderness gathering general flora and fauna until we circled back to the city for pick up.

I yawned and got up. We broke camp and hiked into a mountain valley. There were ruined wood buildings throughout the basin; these buildings were relatively new and mostly still standing. I led the group up the side of the basin to a series of extensive tunnels and rooms carved into the solid rock. There was no electricity; but bulbs were still intact in the sockets.

Exiting the tunnels I came face to face with a small child. I gasped. It wasn’t a child at all. It was small, like a five year old. Its head was a little too large, like a new infant’s, but its body was well developed; strong muscles, and definitely female. It jumped incredibly fast from me. Upon its face was the most curious look; not of fear, but of embarrassment.

With a bit of work, I convinced the girl we were friendly. By the afternoon she was walking among us. She was quite playful, very much like a small child. Yet a sense of cautious understanding, wisdom perhaps, never left her demeanor.

By nightfall she left. The next two days, as we headed back to the city, we never saw her.

On the eve or our departure we made camp at our pick up spot, on a hill near the heart of the city. As the sun set, our inquisitive friend appeared again. We cooked dinner and shared it with her. She loved it. A sudden bolt of realization hit me as she jabbered away. I had recognized a few words. No, that wasn’t possible. But, wait, yes, I recognized another. I looked up and told the group that she was speaking a mutated version of Latin. That made no sense. We were on a new planet, discovered a few years ago, and yet somehow the native dialect was Latin, a language dead hundreds of years on earth.

- 2 -

Excitedly I hugged the girl, and started speaking slowly in Italian. I was stunned at how quickly a sudden look of realization crossed her face. She too recognized a few of my words. We would be able to communicate given enough time. She excitedly hugged me back.

Several people grabbed note books. Two of us sat with the girl and spoke; he in Spanish, me in Italian. The rest took notes. We were filled with energy.

Shortly into our session, a low hum came to my attention. I looked up at the skyscrapers. There were lights on in the tallest tower. My jaw dropped. More lights moved around the jagged hole: dull red triangles moving towards the center. The sequence repeated over and over.

Our girlfriend jumped up and started jabbering anxiously. I distractedly listened as we rushed about setting up cameras, filming and taking pictures.

One word of Latin penetrated my excitement. My mind grasped it, thrust it into my consciousness. She had said: Danger. I turned but our girlfriend was already gone.

“Whoa, hold up guys. Where did she go?”

No one knew.

Someone pointed excitedly. I looked. There was a dark shape moving into the hole to dock. I could only see its outline. It was an air or space craft of some sort. A sinking sensation gripped my stomach.

“I think we need to hide,” I said.

“What, why?” came the response.

I turned to face my friends and explain as several small natives jump into the middle of our group. They shouted what was obviously a warning and aimed at us what could only be weapons. They were covered head to foot in a suit glowing dull blue. I could make out no facial features.

We all stood stunned for a second, then one of my group dove for his tent. A blue boy sprung nimbly to him and shocked him with the weapon. He convulsed and collapsed on the ground. They were all shouting at us and gesturing. I numbly knelt down and put my hands on my head.

- 3 -

They too were speaking Latin.

High in that tall skyscraper were a series of cells. We walked down a black metal hallway. One by one they separated us into the holding cells; their doors whooshed shut. They were clear, like glass. I was the last. Given a shove, I tripped into the cell. My door shut.

I looked around. There were large windows looking out over the city. I was thankful to at least have a view. There was a large TV blaring noise; a large recliner, a little refrigerator, and two beds.

I stood up and was greeted by a friendly wave from a native in the recliner watching TV. I cautiously backed over to my bed.


Over the next day we got a rough form of communication going. My cellmate had been imprisoned for several months. Oh, and there were these odd red sensors on the ground that I learned the hard way not to cross. He had his half of the room I had mine. I crossed over to talk to him one morning and was met by the prompt appearance of two blue boys who shouted and then shocked me. I awoke hours later in incredible pain.