I had a strange dream last night - could it spell the beginnings of a chain of dreams to come? I hope not.
The air was dense, damp, you could almost smell the musky odors of algae. I don't know where I am, but somehow in my dreams it always seems to be dark, as if I've been trapped in 18th century France forever. I was in a black shiny car. It was an old car, vintage by today's standards, but perhaps it was brand new at that time. I don't know. I just sat there looking through the windscreen. Nothing.
I looked around the vehicle. It was certainly very quaint. The dials and rudimentary instruments that indicate that each part was painstakingly handmade. The detailed leather trimmings and hand stitching was also evident. But what was I doing there? The car, just as I was, stood at a standstill. Were we looking for a place to go? Some sort of direction? Each awaiting the other to make the first initiative. I had no keys.
I felt the bottom of the steering column. It was cold steel. Perhaps it was an intuitive gesture in a feeble attempt to hotwire the car without the knowledge to do so. I plopped back into my seat after knowing that fact. I was strangely calm, I didn't feel as if I was trapped, nor did I feel anxious, or that I was rushing anywhere. I actually enjoyed just being in that place without direction.
The clouds of mist swept past the car as I stared blankly in front of the car through the windscreen. I could make out silhouettes of large colonial buildings but they were nondescript to say the least. Two friends appeared, one at the passenger seat, and one at the rear. I would think they were friends, chatting away whilst I remained silent. Then they started to dismantle the parts of the car. Within minutes what used to be the dashboard was a mess of exposed wires. I stepped out of the car.
It was cooler out, although 'fresh' would've been an overstatement. I was at some sort of petrol station. I opened the trunk at the back of the car and found a fuel handle. Curiously heavy, I lifted it and felt the tension of the fuel hose extend from the trunk. Strange. I pulled it out and walked to the right side of the car, bent down to look. The fuel cap was in the oddest location imaginable. It was below the rear bumper. I twisted the cap, and the feeling of metal rubbing against metal sent chills down my spine. I inserted the fuel nozzle into the hole while pondering about how strange it is that the car is refuelling itself, when at the back of me was a fuel kiosk. All this while the car was slowly being dismantled.
And about this time I woke up.
I looked out the window and its raining. I glanced at the clock. 5.30am. How perfect it is to return to sleep when the bed is at its most comfortable.
And so I did.