Putanin’s 365th dream

Another weird dream. They are meaningless, of course, but they linger somehow.

In the dream, I was asleep and woke up some time around 3 or 4 o’clock because I’d become aware of something going on outside. I got out of bed reluctantly, then walked to the living room because the noise was coming from that side, the side of the garden, which was immense in the dream, even bigger than it is in reality. It had the size of a huge park, covered by deep-green grass and moss and clumps of trees here and there. The noise I’d heard was that of machinery – first I’d thought of lawn mowers, the heavier kind, the kind you sit on. Then, peering out through the window and the thick mist that shrouded everything in mystery, I realized that the machines were tanks and military vehicles that were moving around, coming from one direction, then turning, then stopping, some of them moving forward, some back, some firing at something to the left, something I could not see. The noise from their engines, movement and cannons was deafening.

Then I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder, which startled me. I turned and saw that it was Oksana, a woman I’d had an off-and-on relationship with a long time ago. She had not aged at all, was beautiful and lithe and was wearing a wispy white nightie.
“Come back to bed, Willy,” she said.
She used to call me that. I didn’t like it at all, but she got a kick out of it.
“There’s something going on in the yard,” I said and pointed, “looks like a war.”
“All I can see out there is fog and an animal or two,” she said.
And when I looked again, I saw that she was right. Two deer were grazing peacefully out there.
She took me by the arm and led me back.
Alarming thoughts came to me. Why were the dogs not barking? And what would Olytschka say about this stunningly beautiful young creature who was taking me to the bedroom?

I woke up with a start. Olynka was asleep next to me, snoring slightly, the usual ugly brown eye mask in place. I went to the living room without making any noise. All clear out there, all peaceful, no mist, no machines, no deer. I’d roused the dogs, though, and they joined me. I patted them on their heads and told them to go back to sleep.

Photo by Kevin Schmid on Unsplash


About James Steerforth

I am an author of poetry and fiction, translator and painter who loves to have fun with borrowed feathers.
This entry was posted in Creative writing, diary, Enigma, Flash fiction, Satire, Surrealism, Sweet dreams and nightmares, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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