Saturday, 8 June 2013

What do our dreams tell us about ourselves?

I'd really like to know the answer to that question because lately I've been having some fantastic (and at times, to the casual observer, slightly disturbing) dreams. Most of them get forgotten in the first few minutes of being awake, but some of them stick with you long enough to get them written down, and there they become permanent memories.

The latest one is still pretty fresh in my head, so here goes:

I'm in my home town of Carlisle, waiting on Botchergate for a bus to head towards Mum's house (I guess that's where I'm going, why else would I be catching a bus in that direction?). The one I'm after is a number 82, but a number 83 comes along and I realise just too late that that one would've done. If I'd got on it and continued my journey, I would've missed the mayhem that was about to ensue.

The 82 bus arrives on cue. It's a double-decker, white and blue. As it approaches the bus stop the driver mounts the kerb, and it's such a massive kerb that the entire bus nearly tips over. The bus heads off the kerb and back on the road, and this is when it tips over again, more fierce this time and with a screeching of wheels and crunching of metal against tarmac, the whole thing crashes down into the road and skids along for about 20 metres.

I'm the first on the scene (and the only one who seems to care for some reason), rushing in to check on everyone. As I crawl through the top level of the bus which is now half-buried in the road I manage to locate the driver, a female with the old-fashioned drivers cap still on her head and still sitting trapped behind the wheel. She's fine. I ask how many people are on the bus to which she replies two, maybe three. 

As I proceed to check for survivors I find one middle-aged black lady in the downstairs compartment. She's fine but someone, possibly the driver, is screaming for me to check upstairs as there's more people up there. I crawl through the wreckage and manage to find a pair of skinny legs with red slippers on. They look like the legs of an old woman and I'm pretty sure I'm going to find her dead. I remove twisted, mangled seats and shards of glass to reveal the victim, except it's not an old lady and she's not dead. It's an infant, and she's fine. I pick her up, give her a reassuring cuddle in the way that adults always hold babies, and hand her to the driver who has now managed to free herself. 

In the top of the bus, at the back, there's an emergency exit, with a hammer nearby. As I pick up the hammer to smash the window (which someone else is also doing at the same time further down the bus), I see that it's attached to an oxygen mask and some sort of resuscitation equipment. There's also an inflatable ladder to be thrown out of the window. 

In order to smash the window I seem to think that I must figure out how this resuscitation equipment works. There are tubes that need to be connected to three outlets. One of them is marked "OXYGEN" and the second is marked "COMPOSITE". The third connector seems unimportant to me as I'm focussing on the OXYGEN connecter. I connect a plastic tube to it and turn a valve. Red gas starts pouring into the tube and emerges from the open end of this tube, filling the area with a deep red gas. There's also a humming noise.

People are yelling at me to turn it off, which I do.

The last thing I seem to remember before waking up is that strange humming noise that the resuscitation equipment makes. Maybe there was a real humming noise from somewhere that actually woke me up. Why would I dream of a bus crash? Of rescuing survivors? It's more than likely a few scraps of memories from the past few days of things I've seen on TV or read about in the news. Either way, it makes for an interesting experience, at least for me it does.

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