Okay, so full disclosure - I don't actually know what the sigils at the end of this post will do. However, given the circumstances (post-eclipse window, the person who gave them to me), I figure what the hell? What's the worst that could happen (don't answer that).
Dream started at the School, which is a fairly accurate amalgamation of features of various schools I've been to or more recently that ze boy has been to. I was with ze boy and S., and initially it looked like we were there for a standard parent-teacher meeting, except it was in one of the art rooms and shortly after we arrived the teacher just up and left, at which point we started raiding the supply cabinets for paints and brushes. Then there was a sharp cut to what appeared to be a run-down rec centre (second story, old brick building, cast-iron radiators, and minimal furniture in the rooms apart from steel-frame stacking chairs and folding tables). A few floors down, though (basement or sub-basement), there was supposedly a temple space used by some sinister (of course) occult order who had according to rumours were keeping a dragon, although it was unclear whether this was an honest-to-gods D&D-style dragon, an allegorical one, some clever animatronic device, or what (or what doing a lot of heavy lifting here - basically nobody knew and everybody talked a load of rubbish in the absence of specific evidence).
The rest of the coven were here as well, and we were supposed to paint sigils on some of the walls as well as mark the corners and centre points of all the walls to create a sort of wire map of the entire structure. We had reflective, UV-reactive, and luminous paint which I was trying to mix together for maximum visibility except the reflective particles were clumping together and separating out, so I was shaking the hell out of a large jar while trying to explain what the plan was and making a hash of both in the process.
Eventually we went downstairs (and why the hell every basement in my dreams has a creepy, ill-lit concrete stairwell, I'm at a loss to explain) and the "temple", apart from some *extremely* dusty velvet drapes covering the back wall, was empty. Behind the drapes, though, there was a set of doors which led... out into a ruined stone amphitheatre, blinding sunlight bleaching the colour out of the surrounding scrubby landscape. So this was where... *something* was going to happen, presumably on the stage at the opposite end from where we were standing. I noticed that the sigils we had been painting on the walls of the building were repeated here, but carved in relief on the stage and into the flagstones of the central bowl. As we stood there, the amphitheatre started to fill up with spectators, dressed in vaguely ahistorical-but-not-modern clothing. We went back through the doors to regroup, and R. mentioned that we should have perhaps brought our passports for this gig.
Suddenly I found myself driving across University Bridge in Saskatoon, on the way from our old apartment building to the Albert Community Centre, which may actually have been the same building we were in, so it's likely that this took place at an earlier point in the timeline. I was pulling up to a stoplight and my brakes weren't working properly, so I ended up halfway into the intersection and tried to back up, only to have the car continue rolling back towards a car approaching behind me. When I finally stopped, I was in the back seat and the car was on the grass in front of the RUH. There was a cop outside tapping on the window and I was trying to figure out what had just happened and how to explain it when I realized I was dreaming (losing control of the car should have been a dead giveaway - cars invariably behave unpredictably when I'm dreaming).
After that, I found myself in the back of a police car with an old man, who I knew in that way you just know things in dreams was Austin Osman Spare of all people. He was handcuffed, but I wasn't, which I assumed meant that I wasn't in trouble and was just getting dropped off at home (this doesn't, in hindsight, make any sense, but - dream logic). While the cops were distracted by something, he just casually pulled his hand free of the cuff, pressed a small jar into my hand, and said "don't forget".
So I didn't. And here's the sigils. Fire or don't, at your own risk.
No comments:
Post a Comment