Dream Journal 6/21/16 | Dream #1: Fugitive

He pointed to the other end of the bank, where I saw a group of men entering. I was terrified to see that the group was made up of garishly dressed men, specifically, presidents that have been dead for years.

I was in the back of some kind of prisoner transport van with a dozen other people, all handcuffed, sitting quietly. At the other end of the van, one man was fiddling with his cuffs, and got them open. He helped the guy next to him get his cuffs off using some kind of tool, who then silently helped the next person, etc., until we were all free. The first man whispered that we were headed into the city, where there were currently riots in the streets. He said that once we got close enough to hear the crowds, we would rush the van doors, break out, and scatter.

After a few more minutes, we could hear shouting, followed by pounding on the outside of the van. The man counted to three, and we pushed open the van doors, separating, and running into the large, rowdy crowd. I could hear people cheering, and a few people patted me on the back as I pushed through. Ahead of me, I could see a large, abandoned factory, and slipped through the broken side door.

The inside of the factory was dark, but I could see other figures running in the shadows, whispering to each other urgently. Then, I heard shots. I turned down a long corridor, running for my life, until I reach another large, open room. In front of me was a giant mountain of cardboard boxes, and I climbed them in desperation, trying to find a place to hide. The boxes were sturdy, but light enough for me to push around so that I could fit between them. There was a figure just in front of me, trying to hide among the boxes, and I recognized her from the van. We silently maneuvered through the boxes together, but she vanished suddenly. I was about to call out for her, when I heard a loud scream, followed by gunfire very close by.

I started running, but tripped, and fall onto a lower level of boxes. I stood up to run, but standing in front of me was a group of heavily armed agents, dressed in black. They did not shoot me on sight, but one of the men standing in the front called me a traitor, while a young women argued that they could not shoot one of their own. They all seemed to know me. I took their moment of arguing to make a run for a nearby door, and disappeared into the crowd once outside.

I pulled my hood up and continued to walk through the crowd until I was sure that I wasn’t being hunted. I ducked into a nearby shopping center, and headed for the bank located just inside the front doors. I stood in line, when someone grabbed my arm, and I turned to see the same group of armed agents. I was about to scream, when the man put his hand over my mouth, and motioned for me to stay quiet. He pointed to the other end of the bank, where I saw a group of men entering. I was terrified to see that the group was made up of garishly dressed men, specifically, presidents that have been dead for years. They were all dressed as if they had just robbed a store and put on the closest articles of clothing to them. Among the men were Reagan, Roosevelt, and Nixon. As soon as they walked in, they started to vibrate, and an exact clone of each man began to morph and break off of the original.

Before I could react, someone in the group screamed for us to run, and we darted out of the bank, and across the mall. I was in front of the group, and the others trailed behind, firing off shots behind us. Over my shoulder, I could see the presidents and their clones chasing after us, but hovering inches off the ground. One of the girls in the back of the group tripped, and as we reached the doors, we could hear her screaming.

Then it was over.


Author: Super Jan

I'm just an introvert, trying to find where I fit in the world. Opinionated, slightly vulgar, and prone to crippling social anxiety. I am a casual gamer, retired podcaster, wannabe voice actor, newbie freelancer, Netflix binge-watcher, YouTube addict, and a mom just trying my best.

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