Dream Journal

I am in a theater looking down at a darkened stage. Small girl follows me around and stabs a thick needle all the way through my finger and laughs at me. She tries to do it again so I grab her and try to restrain her hands, but she keeps stabbing in the confusion, getting my shin and upper arm. I eventually hold her and try to get help as she continues laughing. I suspect that I will not get support because she is a girl and can just claim rape or something. Others I ask around me tell me that with tests determining sexual activity this cannot be the case. Then I say I don’t know if SHE has been having sex, and they say that the same test can be applied to me. Assuaged, I go to take her to the first authority figures I can find- student food vendors selling unidentifiable food. When I carry her to them I tell them what has happened but they just smile unconcernedly. I show them the bleeding hole through my finger, but they react much the same way, but one gives me a disgusted look no doubt suspecting I did it to myself as a plea for attention. After some angry questioning I begin to suspect that they in league with the girl for some kind of sick reality entertainment. I try to call 911 but nothing happens and no one comes to help. Another girl joins the small one and I am hard pressed to fend off both of their stabbing. I run away cringing in pain looking for a place to hide.

I return to Keystone with a perfect excuse for not answering Mr. Eugene’s text. I am filled with pride with my lie, but he is more apathetic. They say nothing about another TA but both he and his father mention that they need a cleaner. I am suddenly felt with guilt and am compelled to do this job. I am told to go water the ivy hanging on the fence outside the academy. I go outside and the bees on the flower ivy start going straight for me settling in my hair and ears. I panic but try to run and shake rather than strike them away not wanting to get stung. One crawls down my throat and stings the inside despite my frenzied clawing. At the end I am simply sent away to do another task. I am told to redo the plastic weaving of another fence at the backdoor. More bees come to harass me but after a couple of seconds trying to get away from them, I remember why I am there and turn back to my work without paying heed to the harassment.

More to Come.