The Ultimate Bloggertunist (anxious_hearts) wrote in arcane_chimera,
The Ultimate Bloggertunist

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Black and White (x-post)

Strange, strange, very strange dream. I forgot I had it until I looked at this log. At least, I think it was a dream. I was hardly awake when I was describing it. I don't even think my eyes were open. Crazy.

The setting is very dated. I'd guess that it would be a 50's or 60's timeframe. Maybe even earlier. It was long before I was even thought of though, even before my mother was thought of. The sky is filled with clouds as far as the eye can see. The streets are busy with folk of all kinds. Mothers and fathers are escorting their children, young adults are hustling about to get to where they're going. There's a one way street, and it's pretty busy. Cars have a pretty constant flow on it. As for me, I'm sitting inside of a diner watching all this from a distance.

I'm dressed up from head to toe. From what I can tell, it looks like slacks and a trenchcoat. I'm wearing a hat too, but I hate those. The only parts of my body easily seen are my mouth and my hands. My hands are clasped together in anticipation it seems. I have a blank expression on my face, as does everyone outside that I watch. There's not a sound being made. There's not a clack of a footstep, or a hum of an engine, despite all the activity going on around.

This place is always like this. There's no night or day. There's no life or death. There's no happines or anguish that can be readily seen. Everyone just wears the same blank face and they carry on with their existences. It's very strange. Even though no mouths are open, nor any lips moving, communication isn't a problem at all. In fact, people are very talkative. In this place you can only listen with your mind and heart, and in mine, I am hearing a lot.

I can't make out what anyone is saying. I can't make out what I'm saying. I can't make out who's talking to me or who I'm responding too. There's no one sitting before me. I am still alone, staring at the discolored sky. Eventually, I'm approached by a waitress. She's wearing a long polka dotted skirt with an even longer apron. She has little white heels on with a hat to match. Her shirt is a solid color, but everything is too bland to tell what color in specific it is (imagine watching all this on a black and white TV). Her hair is short and poofy, very curly. She seems to be a redhead. Hmm.. her lips are dressed in a lipstick, it's a dark color. On her shirt is a tag with her name engraved into it. It says "Lucy". So, Lucy is her name then. Lucy's a slender woman, from what can be seen. She's what would be considered attractive, yet conservative. We make eye contact, and without a word, she understands that I don't need any assistance. Like everyone else, her face is just as blank. Not a good way to earn tips, eh?

As time passes, I get frustrated with my waiting. I release the clasps and clench my fists, but the tone of my voice never changes. I can still hear myself and many others conversating, all in a montonous tone. No one is particulary happy or sad about anything at all.

It's starting to rain now. Oddly, no one is getting wet. A drop never falls on any garment nor any skin, yet it's everywhere. It's a light rain, but it still manages to build a few puddles at least. These puddles don't splash when people walk through them. It's like it's not even real. This place is very awkward.

Suddenly, an abundant form of life plops down across the table before me. It's a woman. She has on a huge and unbuttoned furry coat, with matching big glasses. Her hair is extremely long, straight, and dark. Underneath her coat is an elegant garment, a dress. She too is wearing heels, only hers are a darker color as well. She's the splitting image of Marilyn Monroe. Everything about her just has a life about it, unlike anything else that can be seen. She has a lot of baggage. It's hard to even imagine one like her carrying it all alone. She eases her coat off and makes eye contact with me. From there is the first sign of emotion displayed, a smirk. She slams her tiny hands on the table, and I look at them. Even they seem to have been pampered. Her fingernails are colored in, also a dark color. She must like darker colors a lot, but that doesn't take away from her lively presence at all.

She is now talking her head off to me, in the same fashion as everyone else. Our eyes are locked again, and her lips are still positioned in that smirk, but I can hear everything she's saying. She's on a rampage. Her speech is fast, and I'm not even trying to keep up. I just stare at her blankly, admiring her. Eventually, she catches on to this and comes to a sudden stop. Her expression changes. She's trying to muster up a frown, but she's in such a good mood, it doesn't come off well at all. Knowing this herself, she just laughs about it and then starts up again, this time going at a less frantic pace.

She seems to be a busy woman, always into something. Although I can't make out our converstation, I can tell she has quite the stories to tell. They frustrate her. She seems to know me well. In the middle of her rant, she takes off her glasses so I can see her eyes. That was something unsaid that I wanted her to do, but she caught on to it quickly. Her eyes had color.. they were a bright green. In her eyes, was a forest of life. They glowed as if her eyes contained all the life this black and white world is deprived of. It's quite the sight, I'll say that much.

Lucy approaches once more, but before any thought process could even begin, this woman raised a single finger at her, signaling that we're busy. She's a fiesty one. Lucy walks away again. With that, this woman places her hands on mine and squeeze them. She's still in a good mood.

She moves from sitting across the table, to sitting at my side. From there, she nested her head underneath my shoulder. I look down at her, and all I can see is her hair. I bring the arm she's underneath on her, just gazing into all that hair, which is all I could really see. She on the other hand was occupied with my free hand, the one still on the table. With both of her hands, she grabbed and squeezed and rubbed it. It was her amusement for the moment.

I notice that she's wearing a ring. Maybe she's (we're) married, but I can't tell. I can't see either of my hands clearly.

WIth that, the story that never really began ended..

This is the first dream like this I've had that wasn't about her. That series was getting a little too crazy anyway. Lol. I still need to write all those out though.
Tags: dream
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