I walked down a dry gravel road on a warm fall afternoon. Birch trees lined each side, their white bark peeling and waving in the non-existent wind.

To my right, another path opens, and leads up a hill whose steep incline was over 45 degrees. Climbing up this hill, I grasp ruddy weeds and old gnarled tree roots that protrude from the tan coloured dirt path.

As I reached the hills' top, the ground sloped downward until it reached a winding stream littered with stepping stone rocks. On my right side, the birch tree forest, to my left, the stream. Beyond this was a swath of grass covered land which divided this world from the featureless ocean and gray-blue horizon.

The bank of the steam was populated by Komodo dragons who sluggishly meandered about. However, I was approached by a komodo dragon whose body was covered with neon-orange spines, not unlike a porcupine. Down the stream, and across various stones and shallows I ran from this creature. One of my boots became stuck in the mud, but I left it behind.

It was here I realized this place was exceedingly familiar.

Behind me existed a distorted version of Champlain College, and beyond it, what was once a swamp in another dream.

I now stood on the swath of land which divided the stream from the ocean. On this grassy area existed a rectangular gazebo. From the ceiling of this structure hung doll parts - arms, legs, torsos, and the occasional unblinking plastic head.

A series of wind chimes, each with their own pull-string, hung at the entrance. Behind them, a little
black girl whose hair was gathered into two fuzzy pigtails. The wooden flooring of this ghezbeoh was covered in long dried blood, instilling me with a sense of dread.

"Why does this place disassemble people?" the little girl asked. I climbed atop a fallen tree, and looked at the wind chimes. I knew that pulling them in the wrong order would mean dismemberment. A blue fog seemed to be rolling in from the forest, drifting across the river toward the gazebo.

"Because," I replied "Sometimes people need to be taken apart know who they truly are." The girl looked at me an nodded, then turned toward the horizon. The blue fog was thick now, reaching past the stream and over the gazebo. I sat down on the fallen birch tree and let it envelop me.

A disconnected, half remembered dream.

I was eating dinner in a trailer-style, 1950's diner when a storm front moved in. There was lightening outside, and a girl appeared at the doorway.

She was pretty, with brown hair, and without preconception, I believed her when she told me I was special, and how I should be with other people like me. Her evidence is that earlier that day, I did something to save a person, and that I'm deserving of being with 'them'.

I leave my things at the diner, and notice she's gone in the blink of an eye - and so are half the other patrons.

I walked outside, and under a grey sky, notice a column of people all smiling, walking down the street. I see a boy I knew as a child (who knocked his teeth out on his bikes handlebars) - he tells me a similar story about an attractive girl. However, in his version she said he was the only person found deserving. I look at the column of people, and feel they've all been told the same thing. I also worry about my belongings that are stashed under my seat in the diner.

I follow the mass of wandering, smiling people to a house without doors, and there's a longtable, with elegant plates for everyone. Their eyes and smiles alarm me, but a sense of acceptance pervades the room.

While disconnected, and without the structure most of my vivid dreams have - this one stayed with me for a few days. When the pretty girl told me I was special, it reminded me of the pure belief I had as a child. There was no doubt, and her words filled me with complete trust. However fleeting, it was a wonderful feeling to recapture.