disasters

My mother and I were walking down our road together. We got to a large barn in the middle of the road in a curve, and went inside. My dad was there. Some of our friends came up outside and showed us how they had learned to adjust a roof. They attached a rope to the edge of the highest point on the roof and were pulling on it in sharp jerks. With each jerk, the roof straightened up some; my mom and I could see this from inside.

A terrible feeling hit me that something was going to go wrong, like a premonition. I started to head for the door, telling Mom to come with me. Sure enough, I looked up at the roof and it seemed to be buckling from all the jerking around. I yelled for my mom to come on but I knew we weren’t going to make it to the door. Luckily, the barn was made of some kind of heavy plastic/rubber. We were able to get to the side closest to us and pull it up. My dad was there and he helped pull us underneath and out. I made it out but noticed my mother was inside. I felt sure that she was going to be caught inside, but Dad pulled her out just before the whole barn fell in.

The dream shifted and my parents and I were walking along that same road at night; the barn was gone. We were apparently stuck in the past or an alternate universe. There was a horse up ahead and my dad said he hated this part. I was curious about what he meant and he said that I’d see soon enough unless this was an older version. He was talking as though we were watching a movie that had a newer and better version, but this made perfect sense.

The horse up ahead was brown and pretty, but seemed to be stumbling around. Apparently, it had a disease and was suffering. Dad pulled out a short, double-barrel shotgun and shot the horse. It collapsed and we went over to it; it was still alive. It seemed that the horse was too ill in the mind to actually die, but it was suffering how it was, so we had to try and put it out of its misery. However, because it couldn’t die, every attempt seemed to hurt it more while simultaneously bringing it closer to death. My dad shot it again; it didn’t die. He knelt down and the horse laid its head across his legs. Dad looked up at me with a sad look and said, “See why I always hate this part?”

The shotgun changed into a pistol and my father handed it to me. He was going to examine the horse and needed his hands free. My mother expressed wanting to get back to our own time/universe/whatever. I said that one way we could would be to shoot ourselves. She asked, “And I suppose you’re willing to do it?” and chuckled. I pointed the pistol at her and told her yes. “Well, all right, if it doesn’t bother you to shoot your own mother.” My dad joined in, saying, “She’s helping you out.”

The dream shifted and my mother and I were back in our yard; she was moving some of her plants around. It was daytime but the light was funny, like the light just before a storm. Sure enough, the wind picked up and I knew it was going to rain. I also had a feeling, like before, that something bad was going to happen. My dad walked over. He had almost made it to us when the wind gusted strong enough to pick us up. We were blown around everywhere, and the wind was screaming terribly loudly.

I ended up out in our field, several hundred feet away, and had hit the top of a palm tree on the way over. I had also seen a giraffe flying through the air a little ways away from me. I landed on my back in the grass and just kind of laid there for a bit, stunned, before getting up. The wind immediately picked me back up, whipping me around more before depositing me in front of a car in our driveway. My mother was there, sitting on the ground a few feet away. She looked shocked and scared but not terribly wounded. Dad was nowhere to be seen.

Another gust of wind came up but it only knocked off some glass, which came flying over and ended up in broken pieces beside my right foot. Some got in under my flip-flop, so I brushed it out before standing up. Just then, an incredible silence fell over the place because the wind stopped. The sky was now a sickly yellowish green. “Oh shit,” my mother and I both said at once, staring at each other. Then I cried out, “I’m getting under the house, in the foundation.” As I got up and began to run toward the entrance to getting underneath our house, I heard my mother run to join me and also yell, “This storm is going to kill us.” That comment really scared me so I ran all the harder.

I got to the entrance and had to move a lot of junk out of the way before I could actually reach the door. I finally got the door open and was afraid I wouldn’t fit inside the opening, which seemed as big as a coffee can opening, but it seemed to stretch to allow me to fit. I was just crawling in when the dream ended.

This dream was strange for me in that not everything bad that could have happened actually happened, but also in that I had a feeling before each truly bad incident that something was going to happen. My dad also, for once, was not the enemy, as is usually the case in my nightmares.