Last night a portion of my dream was lucid. But then, and this has never happened before, it turned back into a regular dream. And forget sex-dream blogging. I plea for other murder dreams.
Seriously, if you've ever dreamt you killed someone on purpose, please blog it.
I stabbed a fat man in the stomach with a steak knife. It didn't really work well so I threw my weight into it and sunk it deeper in the fat (he was cooperating by lying down on his back). I decided I needed a better knife, so I got a silver-handled athame and stabbed him with that. After I was sure he was dead I decided that I needed to dispose of the body PDQ.
And where better to dispose of dead bodies than outer space? I pranced along the edge of the space ferry, not wondering why I could breathe without a space suit. I dropped the garbage bag full of fat man off the side and watched as it dropped through nothingness, and then buoyed back upwards to orbit around the ferry. "Look! It's orbiting us!" I declared, though I was on the space ferry alone. Then, as I turned to bounce back toward something, I realized that I was dreaming of being in space. I decided to see if I could bounce around weightless. I bounced off the walls and marveled at zero-gravity. Then, because I knew I was dreaming, I decided to see if I could smoke in space. And I could. And it had a euphoric effect on me.
Then I was in a shoddy apartment, not lucid but full of panic. I had forgotten to dispose of the murder weapons! I gathered up the knives and began a panicked search of the complex. I ran out the back door of the apartment and realized that an ancient balcony made of wood stood shakily behind my unit. It was the kind where two-inch spaces flanked every plank. I put my eye to a space and noticed that the area beneath it was a moldy abyss, perfect for disposing of murder weapons. However, instead of flinging the knives into murky oblivion, I carefully balanced them on underlying planks for later retrieval. I looked up and two children ran down from their apartment and plucked two knives that I had hidden earlier from their resting places and danced back up the hill squealing, "Look at the redneck toys!" I was glad that they would mar the finger prints, but was afraid the mom might notice the blood and gore caked on them.
Then the knives had fallen and I'd forgotten to wipe my prints off them! I was sick with regret. How could I forget something so fundamental?
I knew I was wanted, and journeyed long and far. When I returned my shoddy apartment had been labeled for "throw-away." I kicked the door in and noticed that all my furniture was gone, but my keys and sunglasses were still on the table. There was a bag on the floor (someone had been squatting there). A peek out the balcony door confirmed that officials were combing the area for clues. "Did I dispose of the body down there?" I asked myself, picturing a bloated corpse resting in the muck.
Then I was being questioned, and I was lying so very well. In fact, I ended up being released to a physics classroom, where I was explaining equations and theorums to my family. Dad looked at someone and said, "She understands it because she actually cares about it."
Then I approached a shopping center and three different kinds of officers were waiting for me and calling me by name. I fingered an envelope in my purse and reminded myself to pay the rent.