Last night, my first night out of hospital, and still sporting a broken leg in a thigh to ankle plaster cast, I dreamed that I had been out shopping in a type of bazaar, a series of stalls along a veranda. I moved below to the basement and realised that the warehouse my husband and I and some unknown others jointly owned was on fire. I knew this because when I went to the entrance the two metal doors were hot to touch and smoke seeped out through the central crack.
I went next door to ask a shopkeeper to call 000, but the shop woman refused.
'It's too expensive to make such calls.' She did not seem to realise that her shop might also be in danger. I went to another shopkeeper and asked her to ring 000, but she too refused. I was beside myself. Eventually someone else noticed and called the fire brigade. They opened the doors to find a machine had been smouldering for some time. It could explode at any minute. In spite of the possibility passers by came inside the warehouse curious to see what was happening.
'Get out of here,' I said. 'It's dangerous." But they ignored me. Mostly I worried about the children.
The dream shifted. A woman passing by in a car drew down her window and asked me for directions to a small town in Cornwall. She knew it must be nearby and I offered to show her the way. I climbed into the back seat between two other women who travelled in the same car and realized then that the driver was a man. We chatted as we drove along until the man seemed to go off course, off the main road and pulled the car aside into a cluster of bushes.
I realised then that they were up to no good. The man turned and began to make sexual overtures to the woman on my left. I knew then that he planned some sort of orgy and the women were all in on it, that I would be their victim.
I pleaded with them to let me go. I felt as helplesls as a caged bird. They were pitiless. I could see it in their eyes, in the set of their faces. They were hell bent on their own sadistic pleasures.