Caught Dream

You know how dreams are elusive, how hard they are to remember? You cannot remember a thing the next day unless you can grab hold of even a tiny part of their story thread, then you have a chance. Grab that thread, work it carefully, do not let go, and you might be able to pull the entire dream out into the open.

One Friday night a couple of weeks ago was a doozie, and I was able to pull the thread surprisingly far. For a dream it was weirdly coherent, detailed, and complete, almost a short story.

I was crossing through a well-lit warehouse or parking structure with metal doors, heavy concrete pillars, and no windows, probably underground. It was mostly empty, and I was on some kind of mission, more volunteer C-team than elite commando. I was dressed normally-jeans, t-shirt, running shoes, windbreaker-with a Glock in a high hip holster under the jacket.

Then, suddenly, I was surrounded by aliens.

There were two kinds: one humanoid woman in a skin-tight suit, and several hovering jellyfish-like creatures with huge human eyes. The jellyfish were translucent, luminescent, and expressive. The humanoid should have been attractive, but something about her proportions and movement was subtly wrong.

I drew my weapon on one of the jellyfish. It stared at me and said, "that's not a good idea." I knew it was right and holstered the gun.

They talked, joked, and manipulated me easily. I was effectively captured without being tied up, searched, or disarmed. Eventually I was seated beside a table of unfamiliar devices. They questioned me, and then the humanoid kissed me so she could "scan" me.

One jellyfish said, "interesting memories. Those would be worth collecting."

I understood, somehow, that there were two options: a manual process that would leave me unharmed, or a device that would destroy me. They decided they had time for manual.

Then a metal door clanged open. Three armed humans entered-the enemy side in the dream logic-and I knew they were there to stop my mission. In the chaos I got a clear shot at their leader from about fifteen feet away. I aimed carefully, squeezed...

...and everything went impossible.

My vision blurred for a fraction of a second. My aim shifted. Then the Glock trigger pulled back in a way that physically cannot happen. I squeezed again and again. Nothing. The gun would not fire. He saw me. I set the useless pistol down and raised my hands.

He smiled, aimed, paused, and said, "Nah, another day." Then he left.

Moments later everyone was gone-aliens, enemies, all of them. I checked the Glock. Normal trigger. Normal mechanics.

Sitting there in the empty warehouse, I replayed everything. And I came to a frightening conclusion: I had fired. I had hit him center mass. The aliens had probably edited my memory to spare me trauma, but did not understand handgun mechanics well enough to fabricate a realistic replacement memory. The impossible trigger pull was the tell.

Then I woke up in bed, onboard the mighty battleship Amicus, thought "whoa, I gotta remember that one," and immediately lost it again.

The next day, walking back from Grocery Outlet, a thread of the dream floated at the edge of memory. I caught it and pulled, carefully. This is what came into daylight.