I was at my grandmother’s house and pulled off my grandmother’s thumbnail after she handed me a rather ordinary-looking envelope. Embarrassed, I ran upstairs and entered a white Saw-esque kitchen. The room had a high ceiling with long cylindrical flourescent light bulbs. Stoves lined one side of the kitchen and the other side had some cupboards and cabinets. The two sides of this kitchen were separated by a long white table.
There was a crazy old man at the table who looked like the
murderer in
High Tension: bulky, dark, and unkempt. This guy was making a sandwich out of a large yellow centipede with long, spikey, thorn-like antennae protruding out of every circular section of its body. The dry body of this fiend was smashed between two halves of a loaf of long French bread.
I took the sandwich from him and started to eat it. I was halfway done with eating the whole sandwich until I thought, “Wait, this is disgusting. I have to pull all these thorns out or else I’ll tear my esophagus.” I put the sandwich on the table, told the guy I was leaving, and ran out the back door. The guy followed me out, but ran back inside saying that he “needed to make more sandwiches”.
Outside, I found out that the place I came out of was really not my grandmother’s house but some huge brick tower-like building that looked like an old fancy building from L.A.. It was nighttime. There was a
parking lot across the street, streetlamps softly lit the pavement, and I was looking for
a warm place to go. I could not see very far from either side of me, but I knew that the street was long and that I wouldn’t be able to find another place for shelter very soon.
I walked to my right alongside the building I exited in hopes of finding another entrance to it. Some people were walking down a flight of stairs on the side of it. I made my way up those stairs, through a small wooden door, and found myself in a circular lounge of some sort of university. The middle of the floor was a hollow circle and beyond a golden rail at the its edge, I could see a large double door that marked the entrance of this place (in my dream, I was instinctively supposed to know that it was the entrance). A diamond chandalier in the middle of the lounge cast a soft orange glow on everything. The floor was covered in a thick richly colored carpet of either red or emerald green (I don’t remember exactly which color it was) that proved to be quite plushy as I walked on it. A guy with an English accent was reading out of a book while students stood around and listened to him or whispered amongst themselves. I walked casually by and tried to find a way down to the first floor.
An old lady somewhere far from me in the room called my name and shouted for guards to
come and get me. I dashed back to the place I came in from and found that the door I used had
relocated itself to being high up on the wall. I found another door below it and opened it. As soon as I peaked out, I saw in the distance the faculty of this school armed with crossbows and ready to launch their arrows at me.
I shut it, opened a different door next to it, and ran out.
Sunshine beamed on a grassy field of rolling hills that seemed to be used for hunting game in. The faculty stood about 30 feet away from me on a hill with their crossbows again. They fired their arrows, but they merely whizzed past me as I hit the floor and dodged them all feverishly.