This dream was probably influenced by an episode of Buffy that I watched a bit before going to bed. It was truly the creepiest and one of the best episodes that I have seen thus far. But influenced by pre-zzz-tv or not, I think this dream should score some imagination points. It could be made into an episode of Buffy. Or some other tv show that needs a packaged “descending evil + remedy” design.

The evil that descends upon the town I live in:

I am out and about, many people are around. They seem almost normal but many are strangely clustered in groups. They walk around with no expression, like zombies but without the blood and dead skin tones. They are still alive but seem to have no purpose. Groups of 5 to 10 people wander together.

I come to understand that a person becomes one of these zombies immediately after contact with a group of them but only if they are dressed in the same colours as the pack. I see a group of 3 in pastel orange descending on a confused girl in an pastel orange sweater with large white polka dots. Without a mess, she soon has the same dazed look as the rest.

I become a zombie but my dream self just doesn’t really care. It’s fine not caring. I’m wandering around with the group in gray. Occasionally, I see the image of a man’s face flashing in my head. I come to understand (because part of me is going through the zombie motions but another part watching over it all) that all these people are trapped in colour-coded heartache of the past. They travel in their groups of blues, reds, and purples, without free thought, only with images of someone they lost before they changed.

The remedy:

I’m thinking about dead ends. A person would take a few steps forward, stop at an invisible wall, and then step back, re-routing their aimless path. Like a dead end. Then I come to understand that dead ends are the remedy. I find a three meter recess in a pale yellow wall and walk inside, continuing until I hit the wall and * poof * I am not a zombie anymore. I guide another to walk into the wall.

We leave marks behind on the wall. There is a thin burnt outline where my face made contact - it is the image of the man I had in my head. I look behind at some people who seem to be watching my dream with me. “Is this Zorro? It looks like Zorro, there’s the ’stache and dark eyes…why was I in love and then trapped in heartache over Zorro?”