Dreams can be so real, so intense. Sometimes they are so good that the moment I realise it was actually only a dream I am thrust into a deep depression. Sometimes, however, the horror leaves you begging for consciousness. The following is a very intense dream I had a while ago, and I can only say I hope it doesn't happen again...
I’m walking my dog, Nelson – harmless and mundane enough. We’re walking up a road, which gradually turns into a grass path that winds behind houses. Ahead is a family sitting in their backyard, talking and laughing and having afternoon tea. As I approach, I realise it is the Badman’s, so I smile and wave and say hello. They reply in kind and I continue on my way, up the grassy path. The path leads to a park and Nelson runs off and finds a ball. I chase after him and when I reach him, he’s devoured half a basketball. He now proceeds to cough up bits of the ball and just stand there watching him, slightly worried about the amount of rubber he’s ingested. Suddenly he runs off and again I chase after him. A man in the distance throws a bone to his dog and it is immediately apparent that this is what has caught Nelson’s attention. Nelson leaps and catches the bone in mid air and sits down with his prize. I catch up and grab the bone from his mouth, giving it back to the furious man. I can understand his frustration, but he is exceedingly angry. A dog trainer walks up to the man and tells him that he should expect other dogs to chase after a bone if he throws it around. I apologise again and turn to leave when I hear a loud gunshot. Nelson collapses to the ground with blood gushing out of his head. I turn in horror to see the man pointing a gun at my dog. I run over to Nelson and trying to stop the bleeding, but it won’t stop flowing. No one helps me as I sit with Nelson’s lifeless and blood-stained body in my lap. I stand and turn to face the man who is just looking at me with a snarl stretched across his face. I point at him, but there is a gun where my hand should be. I just want him to be in pain. I shoot him in his leg twice before aiming at his chest and firing three shots, all the while staring into his dark eyes.
I’m driving. I’m in the school car park, leaving after an afterclass – the sun has already gone down. I turn down the road to exit the school grounds, but the road is blocked because of construction. I can’t see a way around it, and eventually a construction man walks up to my car and informs me that I’m stuck here. I tell him that I just want to go home because I’ve finished school for the day, but he gets angry and yells at me, telling me there’s no way out. I’m stuck here. I get out of the car to reason with this man, but Mr Osborne and two other men who I can’t quite make out come running up to me. The two men grab me by the arms and Mr Osborne checks my jacket for a gun. It tickles and I squirm and laugh, asking what on earth is going on. Mr Osborne tells me to go back into the school. I ask why and the two men pull out a gun and point them at the back of my head, forcing me back towards the school. I’m terrified and the epitome of confused. I plead with them, telling them that the guns really aren’t necessary, that I’ll go by myself. I pass by Jeremy and Mr Cooney. They both have tears streaming down their faces and are reaching out to me, but they can’t do anything. As I look to them, one of the men puts their gun inside my mouth and pushes it against the roof of mouth. I freeze. I can taste the metal. I can feel tears fall down my face, but I just stare at the man and don’t move a muscle, terrified that the slightest movement will make the gun go off. The other man pushes me in the back with the tip of his gun and I’m walking again, one gun at the back of my head, another against the roof of my mouth. I’m taken to a room, completely unaware of what is going on. An argument breaks out between the two men and I am told to hold the gun in my mouth myself so he doesn’t have to. I’m standing in the corner of a room, holding a gun to the roof of my mouth, watching two men argue over something I can’t make out. I don’t know what to do. I’m desperate. The man now without a gun steps in front of me, facing the man he is arguing with. Without thinking, I grab him around the neck and shoot him with his gun. I try to shoot the other man to in more or less one motion, but I forget to reload. I panic and fumble, trying to reload. It’s too easy for the man. He takes one look at me and shoots me in the neck. Everything goes fuzzy. I fall to the ground, trying to breathe. I feel my neck throbbing. Blackness.
I’m sitting in an auditorium, packed to the walls with people so there’s barely any room to move. We’re waiting for something. A show, perhaps? Perhaps a speech from our leader. There are cameras everywhere. A man walks onto the stage, holding a hat. He grins at everyone present and announces that he has a real treat for us tonight. He scans the crowd and his eyes pause on a girl sitting next to me. He walks down from the stage and over to her, holding out the hat. He bends over and whispers to her, but I hear what he says. He’s telling her to put on a ring that she’ll find in the hat. The girl looks to me with pain in her eyes, telling me she can’t wear rings. I don’t question why, but offer to do so in her place. The man passes the hat to me and I put my hand inside, find the ring and place it on my finger. The man returns to the stage and tells me to raise my hand in the air. I do so with a dramatic flourish and somewhere in the distance there is an explosion and a billowing of flame. The whole auditorium gasps and I grin at the special effect. The man tells me to try again, so again I raise my hand with a flourish. This time, the explosion is much closer. I hear wailing and screaming. I turn to see a woman cradling a charred body. I look closer at the people around me. Everyone is holding a flaming stick. The man warns me not to turn around, but try it again. Without thinking, I do so. Someone else’s flaming stick explodes and there is more screaming. I turn with horror to the man on the stage who is just smiling at me, nodding his head, gesturing for me to go again. I feel sick. I go to look around me again, but he tells me quite clearly that I do not want to be doing that. The girl sitting next to me is just staring blank faced at me. The man on the stage stares straight into my eyes. I shiver. “The only way to end this is to finish it.” I raise my hand again and flinch, waiting for the explosion. This time it is further away, but just as distinct. Everyone in the auditorium is staring at me, clutching their flaming sticks which at any moment could mean their death. I know the man is right. The only way to end this is to finish it and hope to survive. The best thing I can do is make it happen quickly, stop drawing it out. I raise my hand ten times in quick succession and ten sticks explode, filling the room with a haze of smoke and more screams. I continue to raise my hand. I am now holding a flaming stick myself. Every time I raise my hand, it could be me. The only way to end this is to finish it. I lose count of the amount of times I raise my hand, flinching each time, readying myself for death. Finally, the man on the stage orders me to stop. I look around me, barely a hundred people remain of the thousands that filled the room. This is it. We’ve survived. We’re the survivors. It is finished. I turn and look around me again, looking into the faces of the survivors. A line of cloaked figures walk through the seated people and as I look closer, I feel sick. They are handing out more flaming sticks. It is not over. We’re here for round two. The man on the stage nods at me. I shake my head in disbelief. He nods again. Tears of horror, disgust and anger blur my vision. I raise my hand. My stick explodes.
I am in a desert, surrounded by dunes. I am dead. I look down and see pebbles and rock racing together to form a figure lying in the sand. I see my body begin to take form. First my head, then my body. All around me figures are being shaped. Men and women and children are taking form. The bodies of the dead surround me.
This time last week I was sitting in the courtyard at NIDA, surrounded by around 30-40 other actors, nervously awaiting the news as to whether or not we were going to be asked back to perform our third monologue. The NIDA audition process runs like this: The day's group of actors meet in a rehearsal room and are taken through vocal and physical warm up exercises by two NIDA students (a first year and second year student). This large group is then split in two, half performing their first monologues to one panel member, the other half to another. There is a break, and then the groups swap rooms and panel members and perform their second monologue. Then the two panel members decide if they want to call anyone back to see their third monologue (usually about 5-10 people) and then out of those people, they decide who they want to call back to another day of auditions. This continues until about 3000 people Australia wide is culled down to 16.
Darren calls out, "Oh, and before the rest of you go, I'd also like to talk to..." I turned around. He said my name. My name and two other people. I was intrigued and suddenly excited that he had called out my name. Everyone else left as the three of us walked up to Darren. He said that he just wanted us to know that he was really really impressed with our audition and that the only reason we weren't getting a call back was because we were too young, but to please come back and audition again next year.
