Saturday 21 January 2017
Tuesday 17 January 2017
Monday 16 January 2017
An Occurrence at Fort Dungeon Deep
Last night I had a dream that reminded me, in
hindsight, of a rather famous story.
*****************************************************
I dreamt that I was in a city with an old fort or
citadel, large and made of brown stone, with palisades and battlements. I was
with a tourist group which was wandering about this fort, when all of a sudden
an ISIS unit attacked the fort and overwhelmed it without encountering the
slightest resistance.
Then they set about
deciding whom they’d let go and whom they’d do other things to.
I assume you will not
be surprised that I wouldn’t be someone ISIS would let go. And I didn’t exactly
want to star in ISIS videos, even if given a snazzy orange jumpsuit to wear. I
don’t much like spraying blood, even when it’s my own.
The first thing that
happened after the ISIS takeover was that a lot of the people in the fort
abruptly changed sides, immediately swearing allegiance to ISIS. The jihadi
headchoppers at once deputed these new recruits to hunt down people trying to
escape or hide, people like me, for example.
By then I’d broken
away from the group waiting to be vetted by the headhunters, and was scrambling
up into the upper part of the fort, hoping to be able to find a breach in the
wall to be able to reach the grassland beyond. The only problem was that at
least two of the new recruits were chasing me – and though they were armed only
with small knives, they were highly determined. As well they might be, since
they were under orders to capture me or pay the penalty for being
insufficiently loyal to the Caliphate.
I was making for a gap
in the wall beyond which I could see the grass of the hillside, which seemed
quite close at that point, and, I thought, be easy to reach. The two ISIS
chasing me were gaining on me fast, but I was almost at the gap, and one quick
leap should see me through. At least on the hillside I’d have a chance.
And then I arrived at that
gap and found that it was, actually, separated from the hillside by a second
wall, and before me was a dry stone moat, far too wide to jump over and so deep
that if I fell in I’d break pretty much every bone in my body.
There was no point
running further, with the two of them closing in from both sides; and that’s
where they caught me, standing at the gap looking down into the moat. They took
me back to the others, holding me by the arms, and pushed me down among a few
people whose fate seemed to already have been decided.
Apparently, there
weren’t enough orange jumpsuits to go around, and perhaps the ISIS there were
pushed for time. Either way, I was almost instantly pulled out of the waiting
group, and, along with a few others, was pushed down a flight of stairs to an
underground room I hadn’t seen before. In the middle of the floor was a large tank
of water like a miniature swimming pool. One of the ISIS lashed me into a
jacket which seemed to be weighted down – it was extremely heavy – and threw
me, fully clothed, into the tank. With the jacket dragging me down, I began to
sink, head first, like a stone.
What were my emotions
at this time? I don’t really recall; it was happening extremely quickly, and I
don’t think I had any particular thoughts. Certainly, I wasn’t feeling greater
fear than I was earlier, or indeed any at all. I don’t think I was feeling
anything.
Then, as I sank, the
dark bottom and sides of the tank dropped away and became silvery and light,
and I saw that there was a round aperture in the floor, like a tunnel. I was
dropping right towards it, and I dimly sensed that the others who’d been
dragged in after me were following me right down into that pit.
At this point
everything began to move in slow motion. Bubbles crawled up the silver walls, touched
my face, and streamed slowly past me to the surface. I dropped down into the
tunnel, the sides almost brushing my shoulders, glimpsing cameras set into the
sides, recording my fall.
As though from a very
long distance away, I saw that the bottom of the tunnel opened into another
chamber, also of the same silvery colour. I could only see the floor of it, and
on the floor there was something that looked like a sprawling smear of black
smoke. I had time to wonder what a smear of black smoke was doing underwater,
lying on the floor.
It was not a smear of
smoke.
As I fell closer, the
smear suddenly gathered itself up on tentacles, and swam up towards me. It was
like a gigantic black octopus, so large that it dwarfed me completely. It
caught me in its tentacles, flipped me over, and I saw a huge crumpled mouth
start to open just above my face.
The next thing I knew,
I had broken away from the group of people being held by ISIS for execution and
was running for the fort gate as fast as I could run. I was quite dry, and didn’t
have any weighted jacket on. I had taken them by surprise, and nobody noticed
for a moment that I’d escaped. Before the shouting and shooting started, I was
at the gate, had pushed through, and was in the street outside.
And in the street
outside was life as usual. People going about their normal business, as though
there weren’t headchopping terrorists on the other side of a stone wall getting
ready to commit mass murder of prisoners. Nobody even gave me a look as I ran
past them until I could run no more, and slowed down to a walk.
I was in the middle of
a city which I didn’t know. It was late afternoon, and I had to find my way to
safety as quickly as I could. I knew I wasn’t out of the woods – they’d chase
me and they’d find me unless I could get off the streets.
The only place I could
think of was my hotel, and I hadn’t any good idea where it was. All I
remembered was that it was of old-style construction, with wooden floors and
bay windows. I began walking randomly looking for it, not trusting anyone I saw
in case they gave me away. Soon I was out of the main city, walking along a
road lined with tall trees, with green fields on either side.
As I went I began to
remember the people I knew, some of whom (including you, the person reading
this) probably considered me as a friend. I began to imagine how they’d have
felt if I’d actually been killed by my ISIS captors, those of them who’d know.
And I began to wonder how many of them would even remember me, after a few days
had passed.
It suddenly seemed
extremely important that I should have said a goodbye.
And then it was night,
and in the distance I saw lights. Soon enough I recognised them; it was my
hotel.
As I let myself into
my room and locked the door behind me, I sighed with relief. They wouldn’t find
me here. The next morning I was leaving, and I’d go far away, and then I’d tell
everyone what had happened, and let them know I was safe. I kicked off my shoes
and threw myself down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. The room lights
were silver and bright.
The room lights were
too silver and too bright.
And I was back in the
tank, looking up at the black octopus, and I tasted metallic blood as the
crumpled mouth came down.
*****************************************************
This is not the first time I’ve dreamt of my own
death, as anyone who’s read me for a while is well aware. I’ve previously
dreamt that I’ve been beheaded, and executed by lethal injection, and (at the
age of five or six) run over by a vehicle and poisoned...and that’s only in the
dreams I remember. This one, though, was not just extremely vivid, but it
reminded me of the story I mentioned.
The story is, of
course, Ambrose Bierce’s An Occurrence At
Owl Creek Bridge. Since this is one of the most famous stories in the
English (or, in this case, Americanish) language, I think a lot of people
reading this will be familiar with it. If you aren’t, I suggest you read it now.
So what does this dream
basically mean? Not much, except that I just want to let you all know – while I
still can – that I truly appreciate you and that I am extremely grateful for
all the appreciation you’ve shown me during all these years.
And in case ISIS
intends to cut off my head, I’d rather be eaten by octopus first!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)