Posted on

Journal 7 – Dream 1

We were standing in a line with my family, waiting at an airport corridor.

An overweight woman with short hair came briskly through pushing not a wheelchair but a gurney with wheels that was titled down, with what appeared to be two young boys the other one was younger who looked emaciated and almost green. She yelled “Jakob-Creutzfeldt disease! I’ve already been infected!”.

She strolled the gurney close to the people waiting on the corridor, some of who looked worried and confused and turned their heads, almost as if so, as not to be infected. Soon after she passed, a man and a woman in suits came through talking to the people on the corridor who now looked generally worried and downcast. People were asking the woman in the suit how they could be infected. She told people “not to swallow” as the disease spread airborne through saliva. The man was talking to some people trying to get them to sign his clipboard with a disappointed, sullen but stern look on his face. There was a doctor’s room close by were a dark-skinned bald man was walking back and forth from. Later a little girl crying could be heard coming from the doctor’s room. Soon after someone started yelling “Shit! she is throwing shit!” The crying girl was now angrily throwing shit at the people waiting on the corridor, who now started to run. I felt like I couldn’t run fast enough because the floor was slippery. The little girl went back and forth to get more shit from the doctor’s room to throw at people. I dodged shit thrown at me, and the girl started to run towards me with shit in hand. I ran into a nearby room and closed the door just in time when shit was thrown at the door and a little got on my hand, luckily, I was wearing gloves. The door was now locked, so the girl couldn’t come in. I heard her say something like “There! that’s what you get.” And she appears to be angry about being infected, that was why she threw a tantrum.
The room I was in was for some reason also now slightly covered in shit, so I had to watch my step. A little shit got on my foot. I threw my gloves in the trash bin. I could hear the brown bald man, who was maybe Indian but didn’t have an accent, shout to someone across the corridor “You wanna see about this guy, So I guess this guy is also dead then?!”. They opened the door with my mother standing nearby, and the Indian man told me “You are probably dead, you touched shit. Better to just prepare for death.” With a concerned by stoic look. I said I only touched a little bit of shit and I showed were, pointing to my toes and gloves in the bin. He said, talking to someone over his shoulder “Only a little bit of shit? On your toes and hand? You’ll probably be dead by the time they get you to the emergency room. “Then he said, with my mother standing next to him “Teenagers are still bothered by things like pain.” With a look that you would think would be mocking but it was empathetic, almost as if comforting me that death wasn’t so bad. It ended with me saying “I can’t believe life is like this.” The Indian man had a “Yeah, well…” look on his face.