I wouldnt usually read too far into dreams or try to interpret them in any way, but this dream was so panic enducing. I have tried researching what different elements of the dream could mean, but I havent turned up any good information. For all I know its just a regular response to anxiety and stress in my life. This is a long one, so here it is:
My boyfriend and I get in the back of my parents' jeep, getting ready to drive a few minutes down the road to a birthday party at our neighbors house. We pull out of the driveway, and begin our journey. The dirt road crunches underneath us in the dry summer heat. We crest the hill, and to the right in the grass I see three black trash bags wrapped in duct tape. There are bodies in those bags.
“Mom! Mom! Theres dead people! Oh my god we need to call 911!” I scream. Neither one of my parents turn to face me. One of the trash bags kick. They are still alive.
“Oh my god im calling the cops!” I shout. Still, no one engages with me. They don't care about the bodies. I am trembling as I pull out my phone, my fingers can hardly type the numbers in to call. My heart is racing.
“Minnesota 911, what's your emergency?” the dispatcher asks.
“No, im in Maine, I need to talk to someone in Maine. I’m from Benton.” I ramble, confused why a dispatcher from Minnesota could answer my call.
“Well, my son has autism and he just started 2nd grade.” the woman says.
“No, there are dead people and I need help. Send help!” I shout.
“.. And so I told his teacher he cant have chocolate pudding because it will stain his uniform.” she went on.
“Agh, no its an emergency. There are two dead bodies and one who might still be alive.” I screamed at her.
“Hes just a boy, what do they expect on picture day….” the phone went fuzzy. I tried in vain to call again, but no one answered.
We arrived at our neighbors house, and my mother was whisked away by Mrs. Day to look at the new house renovations. Their house was darker than I would have expected. There were piles of things here and there cluttering the dirty floor. The kitchen had outdated yellow tile in it which was chipping away near the table. Just like the tile from the house I grew up in.
“Mom, we need to get help.” I said, grabbing her wrist to get her attention. She kept walking along, unbothered by my pleas of desperation. “Mom, there are dead people on that hill!” I shouted.
“Alaina, stop being rude. Come sit with us in the living room.” She said finally. I compiled and followed them to the dusty, dank living room. The couch was worn out canvas and felt gross against my skin. I took my moms hand again.
“Please mom, why aren't you listening to me?” I asked.
Mrs. Day brought us lemonade from the kitchen, but the glass was warm and the contents didn't look like lemonade. I looked out the window to see my father and Mr. Day accompanied by other men walking to the road.
“Mom! Theyre going to go look at the bodies! It's not safe!” I screamed, jumping up out of my seat. I raced outside where my father and the rest of them were getting ready to do something about the bodies.
“Dad! Stop! You don't want to look at them! Its horrible!” I shouted at him, wrapping my hand around his massive forearm, trying to get him to stop.
“Beebs, the party is starting. Go help, cut the birthday cake.” My dad told me. I turned around to look at the party underway in the garage. When I turned back, all of the men were gone.
“Mom! Dad is going to look at the bodies! We need to stop them!” I shouted, shoving through the crowd of people to get to her. She was with Mrs. Day serving ice cream to a gaggle of children who sat around a white, plastic folding table. I was overwhelmed by the sea of people blocking me into the musty garage. It was dark and humid there. Still, no one would listen to me.
My father and the men returned, standing sullenly in the driveway. I shoved through the crowd again, fighting my way to my father. His face was red and his cheeks were wet with tears.
“Are they dead?” I asked. He said nothing, only nodding his head yes as he cried.
Suddenly, a big black truck ripped down the road. My heart started racing, and I turned to look at my mother through the crowd. Her eyes were wide with horror.
“Hes picking up the bodies.” I whispered. She nodded. The truck hightailed back down the road, black trash bag wrapped bodies haphazardly tossed in the bed of the truck.
“Its Izic!” I screamed, running to my mother. “Hes going to kills us!” I cried. The truck revved up before it crashed into the garage.
Dream Interpretation
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