Most of my dreams lately consist of fractured images best left far removed from any sort of internet retelling. I had one where I was an owl of some sort, trying to escort a pair of spiders across the plains, but I messed up and they got mad and I had to leave. There’s a whole lot more to it but like many of my dreams, it isn’t clear enough in my head to write about.
Last night I had a serious bout of insomnia and after many hours laying awake, tossing and turning and attempting to smother The Boy with my pillow (he breathes loudly) I finally got to sleep. It wasn’t a very restful sleep. And I woke up way too early. But I did have a rather unique dream, fully articulated and readily accessible in my mind.
I dreamed that I was a soldier in World War II. I and a buddy of mine (we were both male; I’m almost always male in my dreams, try not to go Freudian on me about that) got shot down in hostile German territory. We were unharmed but we had to escape. That was no small task, given that we had somehow managed to land right in the middle of a damned German military camp. Oops.
Our daring escape plan included running pell-mell across the cafeteria area where a bunch of officers and other assorted soldiers started chasing us (we were very stupid apparently) and then diving out a window two feet from some poor chap eating his lunch. Or dinner. Food. Anyway. We dove out the window and sprinted across the camp. It was a pretty realistic camp (minus the two idiots running across it), with unkempt dirt roads and shabby army-green tents and vehicles strewn about.
The next stage of our plan consisted of stealing child-sized bicycles and then peddling as fast as we could across the camp back in the opposite direction from which we had just run. Logical, right? We should get an award for most ridiculous escape plan ever. That’s an army award, right? I think you get a little medal thing for it too. By this time the whole camp was after us, and our little bicycles just didn’t stand a chance against fifty or so angry German military men. My bike slid in the mud and I ended up sliding under a truck so fast that my leg got caught on the undercarriage and snapped. I was able to see my buddy go peddling right into a wall of German men and artillery at the very entrance to the camp. He almost made it. But he died. It didn’t show it in the dream but that was the implication. He plowed into all that mess and they shot him to death. That’s where I woke up.
I don’t know why I was randomly dreaming about WWII. I have no personal connection to the event (even my grandparents are too young to remember it) and I have not watched any sort of war movie in a very long time. In fact, I don’t even like war movies. And while I am a big history nerd, I don’t really consider WWII to be on my list of favored historical events. I guess I prefer more ancient history than 20th century history. But there you have it. A dream in which I, a 21st century girl with no combat interest or experience, marauded as a bicycle-riding Allied soldier behind enemy lines.