Well, I thought I'd just give everyone a quick and interesting synopsis (or possibly, a detailed explanation, we'll see) of a dream (or rather, possibly a nightmare, I'll let you be the judge of that) I had the other night, so it doesn't conveniently decide to fade now that I want to share it:
The first half of the dream is hazily unclear to me. All I remember is being present in some sort of large building set beside a BC Ferries Terminal in a place that I recognize as the ferry going from Vancouver Island to Powell River, and I believe maybe it was me and a friend, or me and my brother that got into some sort of physical fight against one another, which ended up getting so intense we somehow ended up flying through a window and falling down onto someones car, severing the entire roof from the rest of the vehicle, which as I recall was brown, as it was heading into the ferry via the docking ramp (although from the ferry, there was a bright white light which restricted me from actually seeing inside the boat itself). One obvious feature I remember of the driver was that, despite all I could see was a silhouette, he was wearing rectangular glasses, with his hair being styled with some sort of cowlick at the front.
As we entered the boat, everything faded into bright white for a moment or two, until finally it gave way and the typical inside of a ferry boat revealed itself.
I can't exactly put my finger on what happened directly thereafter, but somehow the rectangular-glasses, cow licked hair guy wasn't there anymore, and it hadn't been his car. Instead, I, and whoever else it was that I was with, had just wrecked a car that belonged to a bald young man with snake tattoos on both arms, and who was wearing a white muscle shirt and beige cargo pants. If it's of any importance, he also happened to be quite muscular (but not overly so). He also boasted 2, maybe 3 pals of his who all wore the same apparel and had the same tattoos in the same places, with the only differences being that each of them had different hair colors and styles, or wore bandannas or hats on their heads.
All of them stood on an elevated platform (which was most likely just a second floor for car storage) as the bald man announced to me (or us, I'm not sure) that I had destroyed his car, upon which I responded, saying something along the lines of: "That was your car? I had no idea," to which he got quite angry and said to me, teeth gritted as he hopped down from the platform brandishing a glimmering buck knife, something along the lines of "Yes! It was fucking mine!" As I remember from the first person, I was lying on the floor on my back, propping myself up half-way as he came up to me and clearly threatened to use the knife on me, to which I fearfully protested, but to no avail. With my hands up in the air as an act of self-defense, he elegantly and swiftly sliced the knife around my hand, causing me to feel a surge of pain as my hand (right hand, may I add) began to trickle blood out of cuts in which it seemed almost as if he had attempted to professionally carve some sort of image around the entirety of my hand. I then proceeded to get up and run as the man walked away, only to look around and realize he had somehow already made it to the top of the platform again, and it appeared as if him as his friends were shooting fireballs at me and another individual as we fled (and as I remember, although I'm not entirely sure of this, they fired them from there hands. It was either there hands, or from staffs of some sort).
Suddenly, it flashed forward to me being in a car driving off of the ferry, to which I noted happened to be in the wrong place; in the old hub of town known as Townsite, from the area of the mill (you Powell Riverites will know what I'm talking about).
We drove up and past the Old Courthouse Inn, upon which the bald man stood on the roof with his original group of cronies plus a few previously unseen additions.
They appeared to be shooting fire into the air in some array of a terrifying fireworks display, boasting that they were going to find me and whoever it was that I was with, and kill us both.
I remember being terrified when I heard this, and exited the car before it got any further and went to a small, hidden police outpost in the basement of some traditional Townsite house, from where you could only see the fire in the air, not the bald man or his accomplices themselves.
I recall entering the outpost and desperately telling the story of what had occurred to two police officers who were inside at the time. One said that he would find the bald man and his friends and stop them before they could hurt me, but not before a white-haired officer beside him, sporting a bald-spot and a pair of glasses, protested the idea, stating that it was a waste of their time.
What happened after that is unclear to me. All I remember is seeing a large, vintage looking list of names set to some frighteningly red, hellish background with satanic symbols dancing around the page that, for some reason, I immediately associated with the bald man, who by the way I suddenly heard the voice of, speaking about it being 'their time to rule,' or something along those lines. From that, I derived he and his cronies were part of some satanic cult, hence the fire powers. It then flashed to some Gothic looking women dressed in black, with pasty white skin, who I automatically took to be the bald mans girlfriend.
Then my dad woke me up, telling me that we were going into town to meet my grandpa and some other people at the Powell River book store/ cafe, Breakwater Books.
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