An image of my first journal, Faux leather with pen sitting atop
My Journal

Despite the ominous title, there were no fire faced entities involved in this mornings dreams.

In the first dream that woke me up before the time change, I was inside what I imagined to be a school. Quite a bit of commotion was going on but oddly, I wasn’t paying much attention while meandering the hallways. Something was off and managed to catch my eye, at least this set of details brought my consciousness into the dream. People were milling around the hallways, but they were similar, actually almost the same person – a maddening set of cookie-cutter clones. This was a woman, older and built frail but sturdy at the same time. She and her clones were wearing various pastel colored sweaters atop white blouses and dark colored pants and shoes. The hair was neatly coifed in a low bouffant style, she could have been an older version of Mrs. Howell from “Gilligan’s Island” and they scurried around like administrators or head secretaries from room to room. The absence of children was beginning to make me take notice. The building was immaculate, and every classroom brand new. After a group of these doppelgangers entered and exited one of the rooms, I was able to sit down at one of the crafting desks and pulled out my journal. This was the first time that I’ve brought something from the real world with me, probably with the intent of writing down the dream in real time.

Another wave of Lovey’s enter, and I feel the need to join the geriatric train of clone sisters around and out of the room. I was distracted and left my journal on the table. The force of the group carried me around until the absence of my journal was able to break the submission hold on my will from the group. Running back to where I left the book, it was gone! Feeling the need to retrace my steps, I looked for the group that was now several classrooms ahead of me and I pushed passed them as they exited the room they had just inhabited. Frustrated now because each of the desks is empty, I notice there is a movable partition wall, separating the desks from a play / nap area. Looking past the wall, I see it – sitting on another desk is my brown journal. Relief washes over me and I begin to wake up.

The next dream was hard to parse. Divvied up between several locations unrelated to each other, the stark contrast and disjointed narrative, presented a rare set of circumstances, some mundane while others a little difficult to avoid. The mention of “Fire Face was the catalyst.

My youngest was with friends at a concert, and as usual – being the dad of a non-driving teen, I had to pick up the small group. Entering the venue because I could hear the music inside, no one stopped me from passing the security and I simply walked around the stadium like stands under the main stage in the brightly lit space. What caught my attention was the room was white, not dark. The lighting was bright but not overpowering and I tried to see who was onstage from this lower vantage point. I catch a glimpse of Ice Cube, going through a routine but not much more was visible from where I was lurking.

After a few minutes of walking around and concerned I couldn’t find the teens, my kid comes running in from outside excitedly yelling to me about seeing a “Fire Face”… I reply “Fire-Face?!!” Heading outside the situation changes and I’m paranoid, thinking the name was a notorious gang instead of a music group or something. Now I’m in a different neighborhood outside of a convenience store and a white, 70’s Pinto drives up to park and I imagine the driver to be a “Fire – Face” – he’s emotionless and not aware that I’m about to get help to deal with him. I run into the building that is attached to the store, and run into the first floor apartment. I find my Son-in-Law and a friend of his.. I ask them where is my son. They tell me he was just here a minute ago, I tell my Son-in-Law to come help me deal with the “Fire-Face” outside, we had no time to wait for my son to return. The car is gone by the time we make it out to the street. We return to the building but the steps leading up have worn away, leaving a steep concrete ramp. We’re both struggling to climb up the steep incline, my SIL just ahead of me is having a hard time due to his medical conditions, my age is making the climb back up even tougher than I thought. My SIL makes it to the top, his legs barely holding him up, he lunges for the door handle only to have it pull open with the weight of his body and swing him out over the edge of the 10ft drop. He lets go, not being able to hold on and slides down a shaft at the bottom of the stairs. I’m shocked and all I can say is “Dude!”

Making it to the top, I look down into the shaft/chute he disappeared in and hoped he didn’t break his legs at the bottom. The thought sent my spirit form down to have a look, and there in the basement he had broken his legs from ankle to knee in a twisted mess. The fall knocked him unconscious from shock. Before I could make it to anyone for help, the dream began to peel away and I slowly woke up, unable to help.

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Gabe Miranda lives a stones throw from uptown Charlotte, enjoys Star gazing and creating chaos on Twitter. Currently working on editing diary posts to self publish his first book.