note: the date of this entry and the next are out of order. i'm not sure why. it was probably my fat fingers or the result of just waking up. still, i won't correct it.

The dream starts with a horrific truck crash that kills a young mother, father and child. It’s a gigantic futuristic truck and somehow something bigger hits it, causing indescribable damage.

I’m in a car with someone. We go past the crash and a police officer tells us to keep our eyes forward if we don’t want to see the carnage. I feel sick and I kind of want to see it but I chicken out and close my eyes at the last moment.

However, I get a flash in my mind of the mother, a pretty young woman with pink hair. She’s damaged from the waist down. I see the daughter, but there isn’t much left of her except her head. She has super curly hair.

I get home and the same police officer tells me that the blood and small chunks of flesh from the crash got on some pieces of furniture which somehow makes perfect sense in my dream.

I start cleaning it off. It gets on my DVD cabinet, a big metal cabinet we don’t own in real life and on my bed. All the bloody furniture is in a room as big as my bedroom. There isn’t a lot of blood, mostly just stuck between cracks of hard to reach places.

I get sick and beg an unseen entity to call a special cleanup crew.

“There are people who clean up after violent crimes!” I say, “Please, let me call them! I’m getting sick!”

I’m stopped by the sound of my father coughing. I go down a flight of stairs that magically appear at the far end of this room to an old plantation style kitchen and make him some tea. I go to his room and ask what he wants in his tea. He isn’t my father, at least not in looks. He looks like a fat 1700s king or lord.

“Do you want some of this in your tea?” I ask as I hold up a small container of yellowish brown raw sugar looking stuff that I find on his night stand.

“No, I don’t have any of that.”

I run upstairs again and look through a cabinet by the top of the stairs. I find a box of some kind of a sugary stuff that I figure are sugar cubes. I take them to him and open one up (they’re in a packet.) He opens his mouth and I stuff one in. Turns out it isn’t sugar. They’re sugar covered gummies.

I go back upstairs and look through the cabinet, finding a tub full of fruit flavored sugar cubes. They’re in a packaging called the “economy bundle.” There are three different sizes and colors. Large green ones are for rich people, medium yellow ones are for the middle class and small, thin red ones are for the poor.

I get angry and tell myself how unfair these are. Only the specific class who the different sizes are made for are allowed to have that size. It’s stupid, but in my dream, it was a real, infuriating thing.

I call the ██████████’ and leave a message on the machine asking if I can go to the library with them. Right as I hang up, dad gets a call on his cell from Mr. ██████████. I’m somehow already in their house which isn’t their house at all. There are moving windows and purple and blue walls.

I walk down the stairs to their very complex kitchen with secret openings and cupboards. My dad is there and asks what I called about.

“Oh, I asked if they had planned on going to the library and If I could I tag along.”

Mr. ██████████ is working on making food. I sit down at the little island counter.

“Well, the weather’s been so good lately,” he says, “but it’s supposed to be very cold soon, so we’re taking our vacation now. No one but family allowed over. No going out to places.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, “I didn’t know.”

The dream cuts to mom, me, █████ and ███████ on a trip to England to meet family we didn’t know we had. We’re escorted around London by male cousins who look either like celebrities (David Bowie and Anthony Hopkins stick out the most,) or people I’ve never seen before.

We stop at a strange little thrift/antique shop. It’s filled with large, ornate teacups and other glass things.

As it turns out, all these teacups have some kind of strange spell over them that won’t allow you to move them without holding on to a little, thick ceramic or porcelain disk (not a saucer) that is magically attached to the cups for security reasons.

I walk through the shop looking at cups and other things. I find one I like that I can’t remember what it looks like. All I know is it had a blue design on the porcelain disk and the cup was super heavy despite being normal size.

I carry it through the store, bumping into my only known female cousin, a pretty blonde punk girl of about 16. I walk the other way because it turns out she hates my guts and I find a blue and white police motorcycle. It runs and it’s beautiful and I want it.

I walk over to the cash register. My male cousins are acting strange. They keep changing into new black robes every few minutes that are hanging up on clothing rack in the center of the store. I ask what’s going on. I notice one looks like he’s decaying slowly.

The oldest cousin who looks like the head zombie from The Omega Man says in a very loud and maniacal voice, “we must stay dry and warm, for soon we will be living organs!” He throws his hands into the air and laughs.

The David Bowie cousin (who isn’t decaying and who apparently has a crush on me,) pulls me aside and tells me that the other male cousins have been infected with some kind of zombie virus that makes their flesh decay but leaves their organs intact. It infects their brains

I go up to the cash register which is on a platform against the wall with a flight of stairs leading up to it. The cashier removes the disk and pulls something out of the cup I didn’t notice before. It’s a little dark amethyst glass pedestal that stood about a foot tall. I get it for free.

I walk to the end of the store where I bumped into my female cousin. The back wall is opened to a parking lot. I look out and see lots of old cars that no longer exist. I look out a bit farther and see my real father walking from his car to me.

He grabs my arm, pulls me hard and yells at me about leaving the states. He drags me to the car. We’re not in England anymore. We’re in the desolate parking lot of the abandoned Metro. I read a tall, blue electronic sign near the car that said COMING SOON KING BUFFET.

When I mention it, dad says in his loud, not quite yelling but very sarcastic voice, “Noooo, you little retard. That’s been there forever. You’re a stupid fucking ugly retard just like your mother. I should kill you.”

Beside the car is a long lot of boxes laid out on the ground. Two black men sit in front of the box structure like they’re driving a car. There are a few other guys standing and sitting on the structure.

Dad begins to pull out of the spot and purposely runs over the boxes just to piss off the men. They get up and watch us with fire in their eyes as we leave.

The dream ends.