Dream Journal Seventy-seven.

The night prior to that dream, I dreamt a dramatic b ut unnerving and Kafkaesque adventure. The dream culminated on this street: Avenida Rorras.

The episodes leading up to this scene are muddled in memory. I recall fleeing from a place that must have been at once the island on which the girl was hunted and the Beach, at least in feeling.

 

Ultimately, I was fleeing someone in the midst of an invasion. The Jnited States government had declared tyranny upon the People. I had hitherto been at the high school, where a rally by my peers was silenced.

 

As I ran home, I encountered my father and sister. I began to climb up the wall of a white factory building that was architecturally almost identical to the stores that surrounded the Graziano’s plaza.

 

This building was at the peak of the slope that descends from the street of Avenida Venusto to the apartment complex whereinLiz,in Actual Life, lives. I airbendedto run up the side, as I had always wanted to defy gravity. My father, however, began to shout for me to get down.His shouting  interrupted my  ascent by throwing off my concentration.I had to fight to ignore it, and regained my footing on the roof.

 

From the roof, I could see the street. My sister was on the sidewalk.She was glaring ragefully and yelling. She wanted me to get down. I found her attitude unjust.

I entered Avenida Rorras from around the bend where it intersects with Venusto.I had voluntered for one of the houses on this street to be burnt down in protest: My house. I must have been surprised to find that it was my house, and only so.

 

It was late afternoon. The National Guard had arrived on my street. The had a scooter ready to set fire to the house. This scooter looked like something of thekind of technology one would find in the Legend of Korra.

It rode close to the ground. Its wheels were further apart than one’s legs  would be. One would sit within it and steer it by pushing one’s thumbs into the circular,red mandala-shaped radar screen it had in place of a handlebar.

The cops,who were also men of the Guard, dared me to ride in the unattended scooter. In fact, they masked their own insecurity with their sardonic teasing. I sat down in it anyway.The controls intimidated me at first. I triumphed,however.I got the machine to work.As though I were in Halo or Ratchet and Clank, I glided about the street in the hovercraft.The wheels had been(or became) hoverpads. I approached the cop cars and fired.Red gelatin,harmless in appearance, covered the vehicles.

 

                                                dm.A.A.