I was with like 4 or 5 other people that in the dream I knew really well but upon waking realize are just “dream folk” that don’t tie in w/ anyone from reality. The initial setting is pretty unimpressive despite the fact that you can tell there’s a great deal of urgency all around. Very mundane suburban surroundings and despite the fact that there’s narry a broken window, the mood is very apocalyptic. The one guy is clinging to his pet log with a mighty, desperate fury. (NOTE: He clutches the pet log a la “Twin Peaks” but his attitude toward said log is more like “Ren & Stimpy”.) There’s some heavy shit going down and we’re in a hurry to get our move on under cover of darkness. There’s a lot of peaking out of heavily curtained windows and quiet mumbling. The rest of the neighborhood is either dead or doing the same thing that we’re doing. But given that I only live with one of these 4 or 5 people, my guess is the rest of the neighborhood has gone the way of the dodo.
Once darkness hits, “the arrogant one” (let’s call him “our leader” for lack of a better term) gets us all piled into some oldish station wagon and we tear-ass down first unilluminated highways and then back-roads until we reach this country setting. Some cottage or camp or cabin out in the woods that is outfitted somewhat modern but definitely tucked away from civilization-at-large. Once there, we get the station wagon as far as we can reasonably get it away from the cabin and then we start barricading ourselves in there. We know that (all things considered) this is probably futile but it seems to bring everyone at least a little peace of mind. And it keeps log-boy busy. Sure enough, come daylight, we’re getting encroached upon. The guns come out of the cabinet and we bust out the windows to pick them off as fast as we can. They seem to have infected human bodies (a la “V”? not so much “Dawn of the Dead”…) It’s not much use though. Somehow they manage to find the one way into the house that we missed (what a cliche way to go!) and the cordite smoke is just choking us. The pet log cum cudgel is bloodied and swinging violently and eventually broken.
They subdue us.
They start us marching toward the lake.
When we hit the shore of the lake, we’re surrounded by boats. Fishing boats and speedboats and this purple Dodge Ram 2500 that’s been converted to an amphibious hydrofoil. I don’t know why we assumed that we’d be loaded into the Dodge but we were ordered into this tiny row boat and told to get paddling. We paddle until it’s dark and foggy when we run aground on this island. The island itself seems to small and the lake too big. Everything is all out of proportion in a surreal Tim Burton sort of way. That’s when we get the low down from a voice that seems to be echoing out of some inter-dimensional shack:
Human beings were a sort of unintended side-effect of an interstellar fossil fuel production plan. Life was planted on Earth for the explicit purpose of producing oil. And when they got around to coming back for the harvest, we’d pretty much used it all up. And now it’s time to settle the score…
too bad that that’s when i woke up
About Rob FrieselSoftware engineer by day, science fiction writer by night. Author of The PhantomJS Cookbook and a short story in Please Do Not Remove. View all posts by Rob Friesel →
One Response to dream.20050312: grand theft oil
why do my story ideas come from your odd dreams? not to go into it too much, but…
Welcome to the “dream folk” temp agency.