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Apr. 3rd, 2006 @ 04:59 pm dream sequence
Current Mood: hungryhungry
Current Music: Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)


Summer. I'm wandering through Hsinchu lost as a banshee, as always. (In retrospect, I'm actually in San Francisco, in the vicinity of the Coit Tower, but my subconscious likes to get my memories of cities mixed up.) It's the city where I found myself, but I feel it becoming less and less a part of me. The thrill of discovery is gone; the magic of the streets has run dry. I pay less and less attention to the riot of yellows and reds and greens and more and more to the peeling paint. I don't know why I keep coming back here. I wonder if I'll ever leave.

At an intersection with an open-walled drugstore I run into Cassie and Felicia (who are actually Anna and Erica--yay for substitution between people of similar archetypes). They are walking back from somewhere or other, knapsacks slung across their backs, and are so deep in conversation that they ignore me as I wave hello. I walk down the street for a little bit further and things become indistinct. I feel strangely tired. I sit down by the side of the road and everything blurs. I lose consciousness.


I wake up in my bed back in my old room in Hsinchu. It is still dark, and rain is beating heavily against the plexiglass window. There is no thunder. I watch the raindrops trickle down the crosshatch pattern etched into the plexiglass; the city-glow outside casts them into dark, organic shapes. Idly, I worry about getting up in time for my Talmud class. The rain is unusually loud, and there is a strange splishing sound coming from outside. I get up and investigate, and realize that water is gushing out of the loose parts of the frame, spilling into a growing puddle underneath the sill. I adjust the window, and water comes out in different places. The rain is beating unusually loud now. I figure this must be a typhoon. No, this is worse than any typhoon. Water erupts from the cracks as if from a hose; I don't know whether the frame will hold. I am on the sixth floor. I realize that this must be a flood of Biblical proportions; an Extinction Level Event. Somehow I am not worried. I think of my friend Ching-shih, and wonder what he would do.

At some point Anna bursts through the window, drenched and thoroughly annoyed. She glares at me wordlessly and storms out the door to my room. A few seconds later, Erica climbs through the window in ancient Israelite garb, completely dry, and points a stone-tipped spear at my throat.

"You're not going to miss Talmud class today, are you?" she says.


I wake up yet again in Taiwan, completely unsurprised. I grab my books and walk across Tappan Square to King, where I run into Anna and Erica (Anna looking frazzled and completely sleepless, Erica looking normal) and briefly comment to them about how they were in my dream last night. Anna tells me that she had a nightmare, and that I was in it, and that she'd tell me about it later. I go up the stairs to the second floor and push the door open, and it leads to the fourth floor of the NEHS Bilingual Department. By now I am well aware that I am never leaving that place.

I enter 11A and sit down at the desk next to Ching-shih just as Henry's about to begin his calculus class. As usual, Ching-shih has a plastic sack of rubber bands on his desk, and is experimentally shooting them at everything in the room. I tell him about my dream last night, and his part in it. I tell him about the part where I asked myself, "What would Ching-shih do?"

Ching-shih arched an eyebrow. "That's a dangerous thing to say," I said.

"I know," I said, apologetically, "but you're the most pious person I know, and you're good at figuring things out, so I figured you'd have an answer."

"So what would Ching-shih do?" he asks.

"Ching-shih would punch the water," I say, grinning.


I wake up in my room in Talcott. It's dark out, and raining heavily, and Andy is sitting at his laptop writing a paper. I know my eyes aren't open because I can't feel the hum of life in my eyes--I'm seeing the room in an almost-thereness, as if in a memory. I try to shift my head to a more comfortable spot on the pillow and realize I can't--I'm in sleep paralysis. Idly I wonder if I should get up, as I am worried that I've slept through my Talmud class. I imagine the clock reads 4:30, but my imagination often lies. I try to move my arms, but I'm in sleep paralysis, so it only makes them more tired. I try to arch my back to get up, but I can't even move my arms. Finally I manage to wrench my eyelids open, and my ears tell me I'm off balance. I look outside and the rain is falling sideways, faster and faster. I realize that Talcott is spinning very, very fast, and accelerating quickly. It is accelerating so fast that quantum physics is causing light to streak around the room. A sense of dread hits my gut, like it did when the September 21 earthquake hit. I realize I may be witnessing the end of the universe. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth and hope it will be over soon. The last thing I hear before my component atoms are wrenched into a swirling vortex of gravity is, on the opposite side of the room, the sound of Andy's fingers clacking against the keyboard. He is still typing his paper.
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Date:April 3rd, 2006 10:06 pm (UTC)
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Tee hee.