Too Much Dead Island?

September 13, 2011

I must have been playing too much Dead Island, because all night I dreamed that I was taking out zombies.  At one point I (lucidly) thought that this was going to turn into a nightmare, but it never did.  I was kicking ass.

When my alarm clock went off and I couldn’t figure out how to snooze it, I kept thinking ” This is such a stupid quest. The timing is all wrong! I just want to kill these zombies!”




I dreamt I went to an auditorium to see a presentation. There were people down there, they had bloody hands and bloody mouths and one girl, in the center, one girl kept whispering. She was holding a fetus. She was eating it.


Today, my boyfriend and I were asleep. Evidently, he was dreaming about being a UFC fighter, because, out of no where, he grabs the back of my head and punches me in the nose. I haven’t been able to breathe right out of my nose all day. FML

– via FML

I had a dream I was on a bus riding home from school. I said something which angered some of the guys there and they were going to beat me up as soon as I got off at my stop. When it got to my house, they got off, but I faked them out and stayed on the bus. I got off a little ways down the street and I could see the guys standing around my house and throwing rocks through the glass of the front door. I started to panic but then these secret service ninja type guys (who my friend had summoned) came and kicked their asses.


My mother in law called and told me with a hollow voice that my husband had been killed.  She said I needed to come home and take care of things immediately.

I rushed home to find my husband dead in the back yard.  There was fog and frost on the ground even though it was summer.  He had a stab wound to the belly.  It looked fake like it was made of congealed ketchup. I fumbled my cell and started to dial 911 but someone called me.

I spent the next few hours talking on the phone.  People kept calling me.  I couldn’t call the police.  Person after person called.  Calmly I told each person my husband was dead and that I needed to go so I could call for help.  I tried desperately to get off the phone and call the police.

The last call was from my best friend.  I walked outside to stare at my husband while I explained to her that I felt completely lost.  I looked at the man I love and he was turning gray.  He was inhumanly still.  Some of the frosted grass that surrounded him was stuck to his forehead.  Pain flashed through me and I started to cry as I told my friend that I just didn’t know what to do anymore.  He was my world.

I fell to my knees next to his body.  I reached a hand out but yanked it back when I could feel the ice cold radiate off him.  My eyes went to his face and I wondered why it looked so calm.  Through my blurred vision I saw his eyes open and his body jerked. He seemed to be in a seizure.  His movements were strange…almost mechanical.  His dead eyes looked into mine and he asked me why I hadn’t called the damn paramedics yet. He told me the knife wound hurt like a bitch and he was going to bleed to death if I didn’t stop chatting on the phone.

I hung up on my friend and dialed for help. I tried to sooth him with my words. He didn’t look so good. I don’t know if he lived or not.  I woke up as he finished telling me his mother is the one who tired to kill him.


I had a dream that I was in a big, beautiful cabin in the middle of the woods with a friend of mine. We were there on a vacation, however I knew that the trip would be far from fun. I knew that someone, someone who I knew but didn’t know, was going to come and kill my friend, and that at some point the murderer and I had made an agreement that as long as I said nothing, he would allow me to live. He came, he killed, and I was left alone.

I was furious at him, so I went to his home, a large gothic mansion in the nearby mountains. I entered his home, and went to his library. As I was passing through the aisles of bookshelves I decided to look to the sides into the shelves. When I did, I found that the actual shelves had been taken out, and near the top in the middle of the back of the bookshelves were meathooks. Hanging on the hooks were bodies in various stages of decomposition, and mutilated in horrific ways. Attempting to put this out of my mind (though I was sobbing by this point), I continued through to talk to the man. He treated me kindly, but gently told me that if I told anyone I would die. I left, horrified and sickened.

Ten years pass by, and now the dream is in a police office. An officer is taking me, old and worn, to sit at a detective’s desk. The detective looks at me with compassion, and slowly pushes a book towards me. I look at the book once, instantly recognizing the murderer’s pencil lines and signature, and the bodies that had been hanging on the hooks, the body of my friend included. I let out a heart-wrenching shriek and awake with tears in my eyes.


Pulling Me Back

June 16, 2009

I keep having this recurring dream of being marooned on an island after a ship wreck and being killed by people there. Also, I keep having a dream about a volcanic eruption. The two are the same one sometimes.  Any idea why?!

I am always swimming away from the scene and the tide keeps pulling me back