There was an attack planned on a German airplane carrying German citizens. They were flying over the United States. It was a foreign country who attacked, though. I don't know what country. They had reason to attack. It wasn't just to cause terror, but the Germans had recently done something to that country and the country was resentful. Attacking a plane was unfair revenge, though. It happened here in Las Vegas. People had heard rumors and we thought it was going to be averted, but everybody was still waiting. The airport here is in the center of the town, so there are always planes flying somewhat low over your home. I saw the attack happen. The plane was heading north like they always do over our house. A fighter plane or something came out of nowhere and dropped a bomb on the plane. There was an explosion, and the plane started falling and turned as it was falling. The plane was hurdling to the ground, heading towards our house. It looked like our house would be its final stopping place. Grace, Oliver, Hoover and I were the only ones home. I started screaming "Run!! It's coming!", ran out of my room, grabbed Hoover and we all ran to the garage to escape. I remember trying to prepare Oliver and Grace for the loud sound that would happen and shouting "Cover your ears!". There was a bone chilling crashing/crunching sound, the ground shook, the power went out and we were frozen in our tracks. Some time passed, and neighbors were standing around, horror struck. I got up the courage to run into the house to see the damage. The plane didn't hit our house though. It landed in our back yard (which was MUCH bigger in the dream). It was terrifying. It was all smoking rubble, some fire fighters, and scattered bodies. Not every body was found, though. Many had been destroyed when the bomb hit.
They had to be buried in our yard (which was mostly desert). Their graves weren't very deep, so there were mounds of dirt everywhere. It was terrible.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
I have had this dream before, and I hate it. I had it before I read The Hunger Games.
For some reason or another, I was back in high school, but also at BYU-I. Every few years, the school had a ritual of having these teams of 4 take the "stage" and fight for the death. There was always at least one senior, and then the rest were randomly selected. So sometimes, barely 14-year-old kids would be fighting nearly 19-year-old people. Often, the people only knew each other by passing one another in the halls. Familiar faces, but nothing else. Other times, the competitors were best friends. Or even siblings.
It was all viewed from my high school's auditorium, which is very old and pretty dark. I kept trying to hide from teachers and professors who would grab me and take me to the auditorium to wait for my turn. There were some people who were helpful and supportive of me trying to escape, and others who clearly did not approve of my motives.
Many people I knew died, and many survived, but they were forever changed. It was terrible.
I barely swept by unnoticed by those who mattered and would force me to go on.
When it was over, I went on a huge rant in front of a large classroom with tons of students and teachers and community members, asking them why they allow this to happen, and how disgusting it is. I was screaming, completely exhausting myself through the emotion and physical exertion of screaming. I was screaming at them to put an end to it, to be humane. I felt incredibly alone.
The dream was absolutely miserable. I hate that dream.