Disjointed nightmare enduring from last night.. Terror.. paralyzed.. awakening in fright to dream again.
Fragments.. in a production, movie.. I am an adult, a character in a costume saying my lines, wearing something over my head that hides my identity. At one point the script calls for a suggestive line to be said to a man in a caterpillar suit, crawling inside to whisper it. The man is my father, the age of a young dad. I see his chest bare, his body misshapen fitting to the insect's form. Not knowing it's me, he replies out of context.. a word, a phrase that intimates intimacy, a catch phrase that jangles bells and sirens, shrieks within.. a little girl remembers it formed as a request that was not allowed to be refused.. oh god.. Action stops, I take off the head dress. It's me, see. I was acting.
I wake up in a miasma of chill, tumult. Was something jolted from the past.. a phrase I didn't know until it was heard.. opening the door to more of what daddy dearest did? The cold whistling wind lashes the dying leaves from the branches which join the eerie concert with winterly rustles as sleep returns.
A compilation of plays are being rehearsed. Twisted destruction. At one point coming upon my father, still young, who gives the grim look that so frightened the child. Someone interjects, "It was a line from the script." His look, or does his mouth, say to me.. If it was said, it was meant it. NOW.
Waking up again. Storm still wild outside. Thinking I should remember this dream. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's a missing piece.
Dreams continue to be vivid, disturbing, vibrant until morning and full bladder bring a different reality. Something about wanting to remember a dream, a nightmare. No clue about what it was. Until just a bit ago.
