Abra Staffin-Wiebe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abracanabra) wrote2002-07-22 09:23 am
abracanabra) wrote2002-07-22 09:23 am
Dream
A large group of friends were going to a museum/carnival and so was I (& the Muse, of course). We got on a bus. There were two other people on the bus, and they seemed somewhat intimidated. It was around midnight.
One of the other people got off the bus on a street that looked like India and smelled like Chinatown. There were no curbs on the street. He walked off the bus and straight down into a small shack of a restaurant with an open door. Inside were a bunch of asian men eating and a woman (facing away) who looked like the star of a black-and-white movie updated into color. She turned around. Her face was very cynical. She wore a cigarette tray hanging from her neck. I asked if anyone wanted some eggrolls, but everyone said no, so we continued on the bus with the silent bus driver.
The floor of the bus began to get wet. We all got off at what I assumed was a transfer point and I sat next to the stranger to chat. When I looked over to where the rest of the group had sat, they were gone. I asked the stranger if he knew the way to the museum/carnival, but he shook his head. The bus was still sitting by the curb (this street had a curb; it was quiet and residential, though all the windows were dark as if everyone went to sleep at 9 p.m. sharp; we were sitting on cement blocks surrounding a dead garden.), along with another bus I did not recognize, which seemed completely abandoned.
I climbed back on the bus we came in to ask the bus driver if he knew how to get there from here. The stranger wished me luck as I left. The bus driver did not look like the same man, but he was. My backpack was floating in the water that filled the bus, so I knew it must be the same. He frowned at me and said there was no bus that went there, but then he sighed and accelerated and drove off, heading for my destination. It was only a few blocks away, and he checked to make sure that I knew where to catch a bus to return.
The museum/carnival was held inside a church, the most sprawling church I've ever seen, though it all seemed to be on ground level (except for spires). The bus driver got off the bus and pulled me impatiently along, trying to find my friends and deposit me. The church was made of gray cobblestones. All the stained glass windows had been changed. We walked beside one that had a mournful picture of a puppy looking upwards with big picture-postcard basset hound eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but they were shining juggling balls.
The walkway and the entrances to the church were strung with Christmas tree lights made in the shape of pentagrams, pyramids with an eye inside, and various other occult symbols. The bus driver took me through the gift store entrance. Most of the merchandise was impossible to focus on, but it was very crowded and the light was green. There were angel wings for sale, but they were so small they would only fit an infant. They looked tattered.
There was a circular room on the other side, surrounded by other rooms opening onto it and stairways leading up or down. One of the rooms was labeled "The Gas Chamber" and the other "The Room of Masks." I looked into the Gas Chamber. There were many things pickled in formaldehyde, especially heads, and the air looked thick and wrong.
There was a machine standing by the entrance to the Gas Chamber. It looked like the tell-your-weight or read-your-fortune machines common to such places. "Bring yourself from your dreams" was the label. There was a place to put a coin, but nothing told how much the price was.
"Come on!" the bus driver said and pulled me into the Room of Masks. There were no masks in it. People were examining bits of parchment and stray feathers, but there were no masks. Everyone else seemed to be very impressed with the room, but I thought it was boring. I tried to pull away, and the bus driver flung me across the room. I sat down on the stairs there and waited, bored. He told my friends that I was here, then left.
"Does anyone have the time?" one of you asked. All the clocks in the room were frozen at different times. I looked down at my antique watch, but the face had turned into a miniature turtle shell and it was impossible to read.
One of the other people got off the bus on a street that looked like India and smelled like Chinatown. There were no curbs on the street. He walked off the bus and straight down into a small shack of a restaurant with an open door. Inside were a bunch of asian men eating and a woman (facing away) who looked like the star of a black-and-white movie updated into color. She turned around. Her face was very cynical. She wore a cigarette tray hanging from her neck. I asked if anyone wanted some eggrolls, but everyone said no, so we continued on the bus with the silent bus driver.
The floor of the bus began to get wet. We all got off at what I assumed was a transfer point and I sat next to the stranger to chat. When I looked over to where the rest of the group had sat, they were gone. I asked the stranger if he knew the way to the museum/carnival, but he shook his head. The bus was still sitting by the curb (this street had a curb; it was quiet and residential, though all the windows were dark as if everyone went to sleep at 9 p.m. sharp; we were sitting on cement blocks surrounding a dead garden.), along with another bus I did not recognize, which seemed completely abandoned.
I climbed back on the bus we came in to ask the bus driver if he knew how to get there from here. The stranger wished me luck as I left. The bus driver did not look like the same man, but he was. My backpack was floating in the water that filled the bus, so I knew it must be the same. He frowned at me and said there was no bus that went there, but then he sighed and accelerated and drove off, heading for my destination. It was only a few blocks away, and he checked to make sure that I knew where to catch a bus to return.
The museum/carnival was held inside a church, the most sprawling church I've ever seen, though it all seemed to be on ground level (except for spires). The bus driver got off the bus and pulled me impatiently along, trying to find my friends and deposit me. The church was made of gray cobblestones. All the stained glass windows had been changed. We walked beside one that had a mournful picture of a puppy looking upwards with big picture-postcard basset hound eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but they were shining juggling balls.
The walkway and the entrances to the church were strung with Christmas tree lights made in the shape of pentagrams, pyramids with an eye inside, and various other occult symbols. The bus driver took me through the gift store entrance. Most of the merchandise was impossible to focus on, but it was very crowded and the light was green. There were angel wings for sale, but they were so small they would only fit an infant. They looked tattered.
There was a circular room on the other side, surrounded by other rooms opening onto it and stairways leading up or down. One of the rooms was labeled "The Gas Chamber" and the other "The Room of Masks." I looked into the Gas Chamber. There were many things pickled in formaldehyde, especially heads, and the air looked thick and wrong.
There was a machine standing by the entrance to the Gas Chamber. It looked like the tell-your-weight or read-your-fortune machines common to such places. "Bring yourself from your dreams" was the label. There was a place to put a coin, but nothing told how much the price was.
"Come on!" the bus driver said and pulled me into the Room of Masks. There were no masks in it. People were examining bits of parchment and stray feathers, but there were no masks. Everyone else seemed to be very impressed with the room, but I thought it was boring. I tried to pull away, and the bus driver flung me across the room. I sat down on the stairs there and waited, bored. He told my friends that I was here, then left.
"Does anyone have the time?" one of you asked. All the clocks in the room were frozen at different times. I looked down at my antique watch, but the face had turned into a miniature turtle shell and it was impossible to read.