Dream: Invading armies

This post is part of a new series of writings I’m trying. I have created an online dream diary and I will post the dreams that are vivid enough for me to remember. I have strange dreams. Always. I think some of them make for quite interesting stories. The first post in this series was Dream: The Cow With the Pink Pearl Ring. Below is my second post.

We were in Egypt. Or was it Iraq? Either way, we were in a city. There were many five to eight storey buildings just behind us. There was a lot of commotion on the streets. Our city had been invaded by an army. Ever since I was a child I’ve had these dreams of invading armies. They are always very vivid dreams.

The invaders were close by. We knew because lots of young men were running by us, attempting to escape the army. Behind us were buildings. Ahead of us were endless fields.  

We were in an area under a wide bridge watching this. My father, deceased in the real, non-dream world, was sitting in his favorite recliner chair. He was old and tired like he was before he died. I was standing next to him, observing the commotion, my father, and a small child standing with us. The child was either my youngest brother or youngest son, or perhaps something in between. He was someone I had strong maternal feelings for. He was the height of a three-year-old but with the body of perhaps an eight-year-old. The child was very frightened.

As we watched the young men run by us out into the open fields, I told my father not to worry. We were going to just sit here and wait it out. What happens will happen. I knew he would be unable to get up and leave. My father was resigned.

As I watched, the young child suddenly and instinctively took the stance of someone preparing to run. He was facing the fields. He froze in that stance for a few seconds, as if thinking. At that moment, both my father and I realized that the child must be given a chance. I was torn. Should I go with the child or stay with my father? I needed to protect both.

My father unfroze the moment by slowly standing up from his recliner chair. I understood that he knew he needed to protect the child. I wouldn’t leave my father, so he would come with us both. I picked up the child and held him on my hip. And I stood by my father as we began to slowly walk towards the fields. My father started picking up his pace. The army was getting close. He needed to get the child away from them. I told him to slow down. His heart – my father had undergone a valve replacement operation years back and had a weak heart – would not be able to withstand anything more than a very slow walk. He didn’t listen to me. He began to force himself into a slow jog.

I was distraught. I was afraid I would lose my father.

End of scene. End of dream.


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