Very Unsettling Dream... Date Wednesday, April 17, 2024 - 07:59 PM PST Topic Dreams So, where did this all begin? I died. Seriously, that's how the dream began. I died, and they put my body in the ground, but my soul was already on the way to re-incarnation. I was born as this tiny little baby girl, to two useless inept parents, and from the moment I popped out I knew things were wrong. I was still me. I still had all the knowledge, all the thoughts and feelings that I have now, but I couldn't talk. I could just make these stupid baby noises and I was so lonely. I wanted to find my real parents, my friends, and most of all, Stewart. Try calling 118 when you're three months old and can't talk. I had to start over from scratch. By the time I'd mastered talking I didn't see how I could possibly call anyone up that I used to know. Can you imagine a small child's voice coming down the phone line, telling you that it was your dead friend? Somehow, that wasn't going to work. I went to school, and was bored out of my mind. Primary school maths and english wasn't exactly a challenge. As I got older it seemed less and less reasonable to try and find anyone. Stewart would have moved on. I didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. I didn't even know if he was still living in Wales. So I grew up. I got to sixteen, and applied to be emancipated from my parents. They were chavscum, and as soon as I could be away from them, the better for me. I started thinking again about finding Stewart, and I decided to move down to Swansea. Everything was different. 02 didn't even exist any more. I went to our flat, and the building was completely changed. Some lawyer's offices. So I followed through on my original plan, back when I was a baby, and called directory enquiries. Shockingly enough, they found him, and gave me the number. I think I must have wasted a good few weeks, just looking at the damn number, and trying to work out what to say. Even a sixteen year old voice isn't going to be taken seriously when it's telling you that it is actually your dead girlfriend. So I figured I would call up, and ask if we could meet up. Crazy idea probably, considering he'd think I was some random weirdo, and probably try and avoid me from then on, but it was worth a shot. I called up. It was so strange, listening to his voice again. I was sixteen, and he was thirty eight. That's one heck of an age difference. I told him that I really needed to talk to him, I just wanted one meeting, and he could walk away if he wanted to, but please - just that one meeting. I suggested Crowley's, and I think that might have piqued his interest. Of course, Crowley's didn't exist any more. It hadn't done for over ten years, and he must have been wondering how I'd even heard of it. We settled on a small coffee shop which I'd walked past several times. It had reminded me of the Java. When it actually came time to meet him I was a nervous wreck. I got there an hour early, and tried to plan out what I was going to say. I thought of all the different ways I could begin. Should I launch straight into it? Should I just start off by saying hi, and asking how he was? As he walked up the stairs I realised there was only one way I could begin; I burst into tears. I was the only one up there, and probably the only sixteen year old in the whole shop, and he walked straight over to me. It was so horrible, having remembered him as being twenty two and wholly in love with the twenty year old me, and now seeing him at thirty eight, wondering who the hysterical sixteen year old was... Maybe that's why I started off with the damn stupid comment of "I didn't want to die." Sure Pixi, way to convince him that you're not crazy. He seemed to ignore my outburst though, and sat down opposite me. I just looked at him through my hands, and kept right on crying. He was there; I was looking right at him but I didn't know what to say, how to begin. After about ten minutes my sobs subsided to annoying hiccuping gasps, and he asked me if I was going to be okay. "I don't know," I told him, "that depends on whether you belive me." "I don't even know who you are." Well that brought things to a point. I couldn't just blurt out 'I'm Pixi' though. I spent at least another ten minutes telling him that I really desperately needed to tell him something, but it wouldn't be easy for him to believe. He just had to trust me. I think I promised him about seven times that I wasn't crazy. After he'd promised a suitable number of times that he wasn't about to just walk out, I asked if he believed in reincarnation. I explained that when someone is reincarnated then for a short while they remember their past life, but as they grow older their new life takes over, and most of the time once the child has learned to speak it's forgotten all about it's previous life. Sometimes though, when the new life is particularly horrible, or the soul desperately wants to remember then a person will remember. Everything. I told him I remembered Crowley's, and the Office. I remembered 02, and GAME. I remembered his father, his sisters, their sons... a horrible thought struck me. What if he was married now? What if he had children and a wife and 9-5 job and a ladrador and a white picket fence? I told him that I remembered that when he was 22 he never wanted to be married or have children. I remembered Dandelion and Burdock. I remembered our flat. I remembered being Pixi. For a minute, maybe longer, I thought he was just going to walk out. I started crying again. I told him that I hadn't wanted to die, and I hadn't wanted to leave him and I couldn't stand the fact that he was staring straight through me like I was some stranger when I wasn't. I wasn't a stranger, I was his Pixi, and I'd always thought - always kidded myself that he'd know that. That he'd be able to just look past the upset sixteen year old and realise that it was really me, and why didn't he know this? He told me that Pixi was dead, and I wanted to curl up and die. Again. He said that anyone could have found out what I'd just told him, and why did I want to make him believe I was someone I couldn't possibly be? I think I screamed at him. I told him that the last things I'd bought had been three DVDs and a book, how could I have known that if I wasn't me? I told him that I had just booked an appointment to have the wuzhys snipped. I told him things that were small and trivial and which couldn't possibly have been recorded in any way, for a sixteen year old school girl to look up and get ideas from. I told him things that no-one else could have known because we wouldn't have told anyone. Thoughout my screaming, crying rant, the look in his face got more and more shocked. I think he believed me. Some of the things I told him no-one else could have known, and I think it scared him. He was looking down at me, his thirty eight year old face pale white and he opened his mouth to say something... and I woke up. I woke up crying, and wondering what he was going to say, and an hour and a half later I was still sniffling. I know this wasn't the weirdest of dreams, it seems more like an old fashioned, distinctly cheesy, love story, but my gods it was so powerful. I still feel upset now, and every emotion I felt in the dream felt so fucking real it was scary, and it definitely made an impact on me. Does anyone want to analyse this for me? I've already had the suggestion that it was due to the ham sandwich I ate the night before... This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=812