So I woke up this morning from the oddest dream. It was almost like being in the middle of a thrilling novel. Except in this thrilling novel I, along with a handful of other people was flown to an island country under false pretense.
They told me I was chosen as the writer for this nebulous undertaking, based on something I wrote that they had found in my computer at work. A creepy lady quoted back the entire passage to me, and I at once recognized it as my work and also marvelled at her for memorizing the whole thing. She explained that they’d been reading and discussing it for weeks.
There were men there that I’d worked with before. I wasn’t sure of their purpose but they were having fun watching some sport. While they were distracted I nosed around and discovered that we’d all been reported ‘dead’ back in America. That’s when the fleeing started.
I can never read or write in dreams. Ok the few occasions where I have read or written something it has turned out to have some significance. (one time I read a bizarre series of numbers which turned out later to be an income tax amount due.)
In this particular dream I wrote the name of the man in charge of bringing us there on a paper towel with a black Sharpie. So there must be something important about the name ‘Raymond Stuckey’.