Three fragmented dream-vignettes on the death of civilization, all in one night. Time for less heavy foods before bedtime.
- Environmental collapse: all plant life on Earth has been destroyed, or is dying. There is exactly one stand of trees left on Earth, in a remote corner of New Zealand. People need breather masks and oxygen tanks to venture outside of atmosphere-sealed areas, which they do rarely and at great risk. I'm staying in a tiny, space-station style holdout underground, with a few old friends. Eventually our oxygen runs out, and we decide to kill ourselves rather than die slowly of hypoxia. Somebody pulls out a platter of syrettes full of phenobarbitol, each one neatly labelled with one of our names. I jab mine into my arm, and cut immediately to...
- The ascencion of madness: the world is somehow breaking up into little bubbles of reality, each one governed by different laws of physics and with no real connection to any other. Me and a random group of people are living in mid-sized suburban house surrounded by a tiny, tenuous bubble of reality. At the edge, nameless and unspeakable horrors (dreams don't know no cliche) try to batter their way in. Me and the only girl my age there somehow end up in an upstairs bathroom having sex. Moments before I can reach orgasm, our bubble shatters, and all of us are dispersed to the ends of creation. I end up in...
- The time of the mutants: Did I mention that dreams know no cliche? A variety of comic-book style mutants have sprung into existence, and are ravaging everything around them. I somehow end up becoming this tiny grasshopper thing, with the power of speaking all languages. I jump onto the shoulder of a giant muscle-bound Incredible Hulk thing which is tearing an ocean liner in half, and start explaining, in its own language, why what it's doing is wrong. Eventually I get it to stop, and begin to mediate between it and an angry crowd bent on vengeance...
Then I
wake up. I ain't gonna try to
psychoanalyze this one.