The White Trees and Superman Story

A strange dream, not entirely realistic but interesting to me because it had a story line:

Me and some friends road on top of a slow moving training that snaked peacefully through a beautiful parklike country side of low grass and tall willowy trees with white trunks.  At some point, I and a few others jumped off and lost track of the train.  We were walking along looking for the train when suddenly something grabbed us from behind and plucked us into the air.  Seconds later, we were dangling 3 stories high in the air near one of the trees, completely bewildered and confused.

We began to debate what had happened.  My friends had some ideas about maybe it was UFOs.  My argument was that it had to be that one of the trees that had grabbed us, but the others thought this was ridiculous.

"But how then are we still dangling now without falling unless the tree is grabbing us?" I asked.  They had no answer.

Eventually we were put down and scurried on our way, still not in agreement about what had happened but in a hurry to get away from whatever it was.  After a while of continued wandering, I began to inspect the trees and noticed many of them had a double trunk on the bottom, almost as if they had legs.  The more I looked at them, the more lifelike they seemed.  Then I spied a tree that looked like a humanoid, with two long trunk legs, two arm like large branched and an upright branch at the top where the head would have been.  It's bark was white and peeling and it had few leaves or side branches, just a few twigs.  It stood in a stooped crouched position and when it realized I was staring, it loped away from sight before I could point it out to the others.  Now I felt confident the trees were alive and animate but since they had not really hurt us previously, although I was wary of them, I did not feel great fear.  We continued on and found our way back home to civilization which is where the next part of the story begins.

In this part, I was working together with a super hero type person to defeat an evil villain.  I have no name for the super hero so I will for the sake of the story call him Superman.  The villain had been thus far kicking our butt.  Superman was not strong enough.  I and a few others who knew Superman had been working with him to defeat the villain using various strategies but none had worked and we were in dire straights.  Eventually, the villain had found my house when I wasn't home and had destroyed the inside, breaking apart much of my furniture.  We then quickly moved to rented place and continued on.

Soon after, I went off to work on the villain project and when I came home, the new place also was also broken up inside.  Now I was really scared.  How did the villain find my hideout so quickly when I had gone through such pains to keep it hidden?  If he could do that, there was no place for us to hide.  We knew the villain would be back any minute and so Superman and I and a few cohorts prepared a last stand against him.

When he came, he quickly defeated Superman and as Superman lay unconscious, we feared for our lives and all humanity.  He could easily kills us at any second, but then I began the last ditch backup plan.  As the villain stood outside the house in a location I had planned in advance, hidden machines around him zapped him from all directions and split him into 8 different individuals.

At this time, I recalled back to the creation of the villain.  It was time for the back story.  It had all started with the animate trees back in the park.  Scientists had studied them and were able to extract the spark of life from one of the trees.  The spark was then isolated and the end result was a terrible powerful creature that had become the villain.  Now I had no way of destroying the villain's spark of life but I could split him into parts, although with little idea of the outcome other than that his power would also be split into parts.

After the zapping, I watched as 8 young boys with dark hair now stood where the villain once had been.  They were all dressed similarly in dark clothes and looked to be about 8 or 10 years old.  Their personalities seemed much changed from the villain and 6 of them immediately moved away in different directions and soon were out of sight.  Two stayed for a short while, one slightly taller and appearing older than the other and the taller one, did all the talking.  Curious but nervous, I approached and spoke with him.  I asked him how he was and what his plans were.  I knew I was taking a great risk because even at only 1/8 of his original power, he could easily destroy me. Superman also still lay unconscious and vulnerable.  The taller boy acted as if I were a stranger and said, "We will need this lantern," and also indicated a need for a few other utilitarian items and so took them without asking.  I did not argue.  He seemed to speak more towards his younger cohort than me.  Then they also left the area and disappeared into the world.  I hoped that they would not cause trouble but if some of them did, once Superman recovered, he would at least be able to handle them one at a time now with their power thus split.

After the commotion, the police had arrived and were inspecting the damage to the inside of my home, trying to figure out what had happened.  During the fight, the house had been further devastated and everything was broken, scattered, and strewn.  Me and my cohorts needed to make an excuse to get inside and recover the body of Superman which was under a guise so that regular people could not see him.  The police let us in hoping to get some clues from us about what had happened but we gave only vague answers that were not useful.  Once in, some of us distracted the police while others of us got Superman's body.  Superman would recover.  It was a partial victory for us but we did not know what kinds of creatures the 8 children would become or what the future would hold.  We could only hope that the future would be brighter.                    

Radiation

I've been here several years now, in this new place, and I'm starting to fit in, or at least a feel like I am. I know what to do now, I'm a useful member of society and they seem to accept me. I stay here in a room at the place of one of the native families, probably so they can keep an eye on me and make sure that I am what I say I am. That seems to be the custom here as a matter of course. Newcomers are placed with established families and stay with them long term as they work for their new society. This are a distrustful society.

Personally, I have no problem with this place but I can't really say I love it either. It's just that I had no place to go and here has worked out for me. I have a good job and a good place to stay and it's been a nice stable environment. They seem to find me useful and if I stay here long enough, they will likely eventually let me have a place of my own. It's only a matter of time, sticking to the job, and staying out of trouble. It's a pretty good life really.

Down the street, another one of the newcomers is also staying. He hasn't been here as long as I have, but he's been generating a great deal of interest because of the new science and technology he has brought with him. At first he just did small experiments but the leaders of this society were very impressed by it, some kind of chemical based technology that generates energy. The main problem is that the technology also generates radioactivity.

People here in this society have little understanding of the dangers of radioactivity. He has tried to explain to them but they just don't get it or they just don't want to get it. They are too excited by the benefits of the technology to want to think about the dangers. I on the other hand have seen some of the damage it's done in other places. I don't understand it either but I do understand that it is dangerous and the expansion of the experiments makes me uneasy. I don't think even he understands fully what he is doing, but the urge to fit in and the excitement of this new society of his both serve to urge him forward with his experiments. There is tremendous pressure on him to do more.

Where before he had only tiny palm sized plastic dishes for his experiments, now he has expanded the experiments to huge wood pallets full of the chemical spread out all across the deck of the house he is staying in. The wood is stacked high and I observe from a distance. Worry gnaws at me and my worst fears are realized when I hear an aweful cracking noise. The deck has collapsed and the wooden pallets on top have fallen to either side! Fearing that radiation is surely escaping now, I run away as fast as I can to the administration building to alert those in charge.

By the time I get there, the place is already in an uproar. People are running around in a panic, some in confusion, others trying to figure out what to do, and still others are found seemingly intent only on proclaiming how right there were that such technology should not have have been undertaken in the first place. Those few had been protesting all along and now their worst fears have been proven right. However, instead of looking fearful or horrified, these few seem perversely happy and justified, as if the chance to be proven right could be actually more important than the safety of their own society. Could they have been involved in the disaster themselves, perhaps to sabotage the experiments and be proven right?

Watching the milieu, I feel frustrated and sick inside. I realize no one knows what to do because there is nothing to be done. My own knowledge of the radiation tells me the only thing that can be done is to run away. It's every man for himself and since my heart never truly belonged to this society, it's an easy decision for me to decide to run. Know the winds blow to the south, I run hard and fast to the north. But all the while, I still cannot be hopeful. Because the winds are not reliable. Eventually they will shift back and the radiation will blow this way too. And I can only go a little to the north before I must stop. Because this land is an island and there is no way off. Eventually the winds will shift, bringing the radiation with it, and then we will all die. One after another.

The Scam

A nearly priceless collection of antique jewelry, now finally up for sale. This one piece especially, medallions of a hardened clay like substance with painted spiral designs strung into a necklace harking back from before history began, was an artifact that few in this world could afford to possess. In these hard times, an outgoing and charming middle aged couple, my patrons, finally had to sell some of their heirloom pieces. Or at least that is what they had been telling people.

I admired their technique, I really did. Even now, as their target couple walked towards the door, they acted nonchalant, but just as their victims were nearly gone, mumbling to eachother that it was a big purchase and they should discuss it with their family first, one of my patrons whispered loudly to the other that it was fine because that OTHER lady had been quite interested in that piece as well and would be visiting later in that same day. My patron's delivery was so perfect and so well timed, as if she had only been whispering to her husband and it was only an accident that her whisper had been just barely audible to the other couple. Of course the other couple immediately hesitated at the doorway.

"Well now wait a minute.." said our victim as she started to turn back towards my patrons. At that, I knew the hook had been sunk. It was only a matter of time now for them to be reeled in. And it would be weeks if not years before they ever found out that the priceless artifact they bought at a bargain price was actually a forgery, done by a skilled artisan of course, but in much more modern times. By that time, my patrons and I would have long since moved on.

My work here was done. I had made the flawless fakes and acted the part of the knowledgeable expert and my patrons had used their connections and certificates of authenticity from the true originals to scam millions off of their victims. I had already recieved my percentage of payment for most of those sales. This sale was the only one left, but I would not be waiting around for my payment.

I knew my patrons would be busy now making their final pitch and milking those last few dollars off of these last juicy victims. Meanwhile, I took that time to make one last swap. One last forgery swapped for one last original and now it was time for me to make my hasty retreat. For I had made not just one forgery for each antique, but instead I had made two. One forgery went to the buyers and, although my patrons had not yet realized it, the other forgery had been given back to my patrons. My patrons thought they retained the originals, but instead I would end up with all of them. It would be weeks if not years before they ever found out, and by that time, I would have long since moved on..

To Track a Killer

I dreamt of an old fashioned house with low ceilings and wood floors. The rust colored window drapes were drawn, blocking the harsh sun from penetrating the cluttered gloom within the house. The house was a confusing mix of chaos and organization. Here, piles of clothes on a shelf in a closet with small tools and iron files resting on top. There in that drawer, 20 plus light bulbs sheathed in their yellowing cardboard protective containers, all lined up and snuggled perfectly in their place, enough to last for 20 years in this gloomy darkened old house. I wondered if having large supplies of these household items somehow gave him a feeling of comfort and stability. I noticed that the equipment for his crimes was found in 3 different rooms of the house and no attempts were made to hide them. Some things in the house were meticulously kept while other things were flung haphazardly or lain out carefully but in unusual places or configurations. The house was like his life.

This was the house of a killer. My friends and I had tracked him, chased him and hunted him down. A thrill of excitement ran through me. No one would ever know how much horror we had prevented. We would probably never get credit, but I would know. I would never forget the excitement of the hunt and the thrill of success. And I would never forget the horror. This was the house of John Wayne Gacy.

[After I woke up in the morning, I recalled hearing this name before and so I googled it. John Wayne Gacy was a famous serial killer in Chicago.]

Crime and Punishment

I am a man sleeping on a large hunk of burnt orange colored foam about the size of a bed. My goal is to travel out of body and attempt to gather information needed for an investigation of a crime. This is an experiment. We don't know if it will work. But I feel my mind beginning to shift into another state and then I begin to see something.

Now I am a woman in a short skirt bent over a table talking to a man and a woman. They are sitting in what looks like a restaurant, each on opposite sides of a table, settled into booths with high backings that give this area a small feeling of privacy even though the rest of the place is crowded. They are sitting far from the aisle, near the window. Because I am standing in the aisle, I have to bend way over the table to talk to them quietly, but I like doing this. My butt sticks out and I hope this will draw the attention of any men in the room because the feeling of being sexy and desirable pleases me.

We three are guilty of a crime that involved murder and finances and now we are hoping we won't get caught. I am scared but at the same time, the thrill of conspiracy excites me. I am enjoying the feeling of comradery I have towards the man. I also experience inklings of sexual tension and desire for him but I know that it would be unwise to spend too much time with him while they are still investigating our crime. I banter with the man, more for fun than out of necessity. We should not be talking, but I figure a little bit won't hurt and it makes me feel better.

I hear him say to me, "I heard about your upcoming eye surgery." We say several more things and then he says, "I guess you could get your father to take you all around." The last statements hangs in the air because we both know my father is old and infirm and would find such a job difficult.

I am talking mostly with the man but across from him sits a woman who is a lapdog wall flower. She doesn't say much and she doesn't think much other than what people tell her to think. She is also scared, but unlike me, she deals with it by withdrawing into herself. She deals with life moment by moment. Her personality is almost nonexistant and she is timid and so she is quiet. I barely think about her. She's a nonissue.

For his part, the man has a handsome but otherwise ordinary appearance, a light weight light colored jacket, and brown hair. He is trim of build and medium of height and likes to stand with his hands stuck in his pockets. He chats with me now but his attitude towards me has shifted considerably in recent days. I don't realize this but although before the crime he thought of us as partners, now abruptly he is looking at me as a liability and something out of his control. He does not like anything out of his control and he now ponders how convenient it would be if I were out of the picture. He smiles at me while he is trying to think of how to best get rid of me. His nature is pure Machiavellian.

And the scene starts to break up. My concentration is returning to the waking world and I decide this is good. Any longer and I would start to lose concentration and forget my experiences. I wake up again on the burnt orange foam. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. But I am pleased. We won't know if this information will be useful or even accurate, but at least I was able to mentally travel and come back with information that seems interesting. I get up off the bed, shake the sleep from my mind, and consider what I should do next on this day. I take a few steps.

And then the scene starts to break up. I now wake up on my real bed. I am a bit confused. I struggle to remember details of the experience despite how difficult it is to remember from such an altered state of mind. I have had another experience but I don't feel like this one is interesting enough for the blog. It's not like the others. I don't think I will post it but I write down the information anyway in case it might be important. Later in the day, I think about it more, change my mind, and write up the story.