Dreams.

Dreaming has always fascinated me. Whether they stultify my reputation at night, or remind me of something I had forsaken, they are usually interesting to experience. I’ve always been one to dream. I think this somehow correlates with my day-to-day, awake temperament: a peripatetic mindset. I find my mind frequently wandering to topics that I’ve stored in the back of my head for a long time, or to the future. The future meaning possible

vocations, ways to develop companies, how to end world hunger etc. Yet nothing in my dreams can match these thoughts. I have nightmares…frequently. At least once or twice every week. The most intriguing observation I notice is that the people who are in my dreams/nightmares are usually those from my old school, Belmont Day School, or those I knew since I was very young. Occasionally a celebrity will be seen in my dream and always, water. I don’t actually know what the water means, yet Huffington Post says the context of the water, and how you’re involved with it, play a role in its manifestation.

Last night, I had another nightmare. This one included (of course) water, Victoria Beckham (one of my favorite fashion designers), and kids from Belmont Day School. Now, I’m not the greatest raconteur, especially when endeavoring to explain something that existed in my head, but I will try my best.

MY DREAM LAST NIGHT

Background information: Victoria Beckham has become the queen of England. There are three miscreants, roaming around on the streets of London, who have just assassinated somebody (I can’t recall who…). Posters were hanging all around London, “WANTED.”

All I remember is that I was hanging out a camp in London with three other classmates from Belmont Day School–Dona, Allan, and Keira–at Canoeing Camp (and no, I don’t think

A picture I took of Old San Juan coast.

canoeing camp actually exists and I’ve never been to London before) We were standing on the rocky, unpaved sidewalk, by the shore of the ocean. The waterfront walk was long, approximately three miles, and the palace where Queen Victoria resided was right in front of the dock at canoeing camp. Willow tree branches lolled in the gentle breeze. Birds chirped melodies while light green grasshoppers froliked across the sidewalk. What a splendid vista, resembling the shores of Old San Juan.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the sky darkened, and ominous clouds drifted over the magnificent view. Rain began to torment the birds, and a tempest began. My friends and I had no place to hide, except for under a tree, which would have been just as dangerous, or in Queen Victoria Beckham’s castle. So without knocking, we barged in through the front door. Expectant of dismissal, we were shocked to see Victoria Beckham standing on a large, marble stairwell in the middle of the lobby in a stunning gown. She invited us to the highest floor of her castle, so we could converse about Canoeing Camp and the tempest. We followed her, up 32 winding stair cases. There were candles lit up along the stone walls, merely illuminating

the floors and stairs so that one could see the shadows of each step. The draperies on the 20 foot high stained glass windows we made of a red velvet, drawn back by thick, gold silk ropes.

Finally, after climbing 32 floors, we reached the highest chamber. It was small, round, and bare. Cold as well, bearing only 1 low, small window. You could hear the rain pounding down on the roof, as if the Zeus was pitching ice upon the Earth. Victoria talked with us, casually, of course, but with a rounded British accent. Sitting on the right Victoria and the left of my friends from Belmont Day, I was able to pay attention to both, looked both left and right. Then suddenly, the weirdest thing happened. Allan, one of my friends from Belmont Day and Canoeing Camp took out an eyeglass and held it to his face. It was a huge eyeglass, round and crystal clear. But the face reflected underneath Allan’s face was not Allan. I stared closer. I was too slow, for Allan, seeing my curious gaze, seemed to put down his eyeglass and stare at a corner of the wall. A flashback occurred in my head. WANTED. WANTED. WANTED. 3 miscreants on the streets of London. Allan. I thought. Allan’s one of the criminals. A murderer. IN MY SIGHT! Before I could even process this new information, a crackling sound vibrated through the chamber. The singular crackling sound in a storm of rain. Fire.

Allan, Keira, and Dona fled down the stairs, and I followed them. I was confused. Should I follow the criminals down the stairs? Or should I burn upstairs with Victoria? I felt my feet flow down the steps, about 20 feet behind Allan, Keira and Dona. Abruptly, they stopped moving at the window. Keira looked out the window, a proud smirk on her face. Allan checked up behind her and Dona peered out of the window. There, hanging just half a foot above the lowest sill of the window was the edge of Victoria Beckham’s gown. Was she

sitting on the ledge of the single lonely window in the chamber? Was she preparing to jump in order to escape the fire? Surely she would fall to her death. Allan took a candle, which still glimmered gleefully on its stand on the wall, and forced it through the stain glass. I watched the whole window, shatter to pieces. It was like the world stopped in motion. Tiny, specks of color flew to the ceiling, to the floor, across the stairwell. A rainbow. Then almost as quickly as Allan had broke the window, Dona reached out to grab the gown which hung over the edge of the window. She tightened her grip around the silk and tugged. All I could hear was an ear-breaking scream.

END

I awoke after this frightening moment. I can’t exactly pinpoint the exact details, yet I would still consider this one of my more vivid, frightful nightmares. I’m still curious, though, what do dreams mean? What do they symbolize?

Note: The names of the people in the story are pseudonyms. Real names have not been revealed.