I had another dream again last night. I dreamed I was in my own house, except that it was slightly larger and it had been overrun by zombies. Zombies of people I used to know.

My family and I were trying to clean our house up so we could get a good night's sleep before super-zombie-proofing our house the next day. It was me, my twin brothers, my grandmother, and one of my brothers whom was there in the last dream I had. Another brother had turned into a skinny person who bore no resemblance to my brother in real life. My oldest brother and my father were there too.

We cleaned up the house after some difficulty and strain, and then the skinny brother got pissy for some reason. He'd always had an attitude problem in the dream, not listening and stubbornly doing what he wanted to do. This wasn't good because in this zombie-infested place, we needed to stick together and obey each other to survive. But anyway, this brother had a fit and stomped off, telling me not to open the basement door or my oldest brother, whom he claimed was a zombie now, would get up. But then the basement door began to rattle and turn, and I heard a voice call out, asking to be let up, hurry, please! I hesitated, and the skinny brother yelled for me not to do it because the oldest brother was a zombie now. But a zombie couldn't talk. After a second I unlocked it, and with a jolt I realized it was my grandmother. She hurried up, and I quickly locked the door after her. I didn't much trust the skinny brother after that.

Then, we were in the back bedroom of my house, trying to huddle up for a night of hopefully restful sleep. The skinny brother didn't want to sleep,and kept going out and coming back in, traveling throughout the house. My dad slipped downstairs for something. I was yelling at the skinny brother to get back here and stay with us, when I stopped abruptly; a man I did not know had passed dazedly by the family room window, heading as though for the backyard. He had to be a zombie. I hissed for the skinny brother to come back, but he wouldn't listen. Then, suddenly, the front door opened and slammed shut. It did this twice more, from the wind perhaps, before the skinny brother, griping, appeared and tried to shut it. But he wasn't strong enough. I swore and started to head out. My grandmother told me to take the fire poker with me just in case. I nodded, grabbed it, and ran.

I got to the skinny brother and reprimanded him as we tried to shut the door. It was hard work, something was stuck and the wind was making it difficult. Then, a zombie appeared on the front step, shambling up. Even the skinny brother knew to be quiet now, so the both of us were quiet and leaned all our weight on the stubborn front door as the zombie scrabbled at the handle. Then it stuck its arm right through the window (where had the glass gone?) and began to feel around for us.

Then I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head. My father was coming towards us from the kitchen, but his skin was white and his eyes were glassy. He'd become a zombie too, most likely from the oldest brother whom was infected in the basement. As he shuffled towards us, I realized that meant the basement door had to be wide open now, leaving the rest of my family to attack.

My subconscious was frightened. It refused point blank to hurt my father.

So I forced myself awake.

It was five in the morning. I was beyond exhausted but I refused to go back to sleep, lest the dream annoyingly pick up right where it left off, as they sometimes do. I tossed and turned, refusing to let myself get within an inch of sleep. Eventually though, I did fall back asleep, from sheer exhaustion. I didn't dream after that.

It scared me, how determined I was not to hurt my father. He's more fragile than what any one of us in our family wants to admit, with his habits, his hobbies, his age, his mental state. Granted, his personality more than makes up for it by being unkind and rude in general, but every person is a person, and this person happens to be my father.

What if something happened that turned people into zombies? And my father turned? Would I be able to kill him?

It would almost be worth getting bitten to have one last hug from him.

More later.

I had a dream the other night that I was possessed. Metaphysically, not by something solid. A spirit, if you will. Don't know who or what it was or why it was doing it, but it was. I was thrashing and choking and making odd noises, moving without my want in odd seizures. Two of my brothers sat nearby and tried to help, but were unable to do much of anything. The most they could do was to hold me on the couch in the den and make sure I didn't hurt myself.

Then the room shifted, and with a rumble it turned into an extremely large cave. My two brothers fled, though whether in fear or not was unknown. I got up, standing calm, but still possessed and so not acting of my own freewill. I was standing on a large, flat raised platform, like a plateau, made of stone. A gigantic creature had risen from the depths of the cave, made of tentacles, eyes, and wings, with a large, gaping mouth. It roared, shaking the cave, and began to attack me. Possessed, I somehow conjured up a bow and arrows, dodging and firing away, like something taken right from a video game.

Eventually, the arrows turned to fire, and I shot flaming bolts at the creature's delicate wings and sagging sacs of flesh. It burst several pod-like appendages on its body, and it let out a cry of defeat and sank slowly, majestically, out of sight to die alone on the cave floors. As it did so, its tentacles caught and tore several stalactites from the ceiling. The cave rumbled once more, and began to come down all around me. I'd be crushed soon if I couldn't get out.

I turned to go, but came face-to-face with an ugly old crone, who watched me from under a shade of stringy hay hair, and spoke to me in a mumble, pointing a long-nailed finger at me. It had something to do with my possession, but I do not recall it. I turned away from her, and everything went black.

I woke up then, but in the dream still. I was back on the couch, and my two brothers were nearby, watching me worriedly. I got up, quite calm now, but still not myself. I was still possessed, but it was less violent. Perhaps I had given up within my own mind, given in and was letting whatever force had me in its grip control me. I kept my head down, long hair that I normally don't have hiding my face, and went to the kitchen to help my family prepare our diner for the day. The diner was built into the house, merging with the kitchen where our sitting room would normally be. I began to set out napkins and silverware without word or trouble. My two brothers followed, and began to do their regular chores as well, but still watched me worriedly and whispered among themselves.

I woke up again, this time for real, but I still believed I was in the dream, so tossed and turned, having seizures and whimpering out choking noises under my breath, my body jerking of its own accord. I drifted in and out of a black daze, still believing I was asleep, until finally my room came into focus hours later.

I hate waking up in dreams. It makes everything feel like a lie. Who's to know what being possessed by a faceless thing meant? Who's to say I'm not possessed by that thing all the time, awake or asleep, and without it is to turn myself over to madness?

Perhaps I'm still dreaming.

More later.

I had a funny dream a few nights ago. I dreamed that I was some kind of android living with a family (that was my real family in real life). We lived in some sort of city, and collected antiques. One day we came across a very old wooden chair that was supposed to be cursed. Fascinated, we paid for it and brought it home, then took the deed for the chair and went to town to get it official. Along the way we met a group of gangsters who were rummaging through a dumpster. We made small talk, but the deed slipped from my hand and fluttered to the ground. The gangsters went quiet when they saw it, and before I could snatch it up, the youngest gangster, a preteen girl with short hair, began to question me about it. I shook her off and continued on my way.

Later, I was at work, and the girl showed up again and tried to talk to me. She was incredibly sneaky, manipulative, and clever, and I had to keep my brain thinking fast to avoid letting anything slip about the chair that she apparently wanted so badly. She followed me behind the counter, which non-employees aren't allowed to do, and continued to badger me, acting as though we were old friends and chatting merrily. Eventually I told her she had to leave and wasn't allowed back here. She cheerfully replied and took her leave. When I went home that night, I furiously asked my family to deactivate the emotion chip in my brain, as that was making me nervous and more susceptible to verbal manipulation. The chip was removed.

That night, as I lie in bed, I knew the girl would try to come to my home for the chair, so forced myself not to fall asleep. Sure enough, the girl showed up and crawled through my window. She circled the bed once before saying, "I know you're awake." I got up and frowned, and asked what she was doing there. She replied that I knew why she was there. In real life, I sleep with a gun under my pillow, and so in the dream it was there as well. I grabbed it and aimed it at her. She grinned and laughed at me as though I were no threat. I jumped up, grabbed her, and threw her on the bed. But before I could say anything, the girl laughed and said, "Do it! I dare you!"

So I shot her.

Several times, in the chest and shoulder. She looked stunned for a second, but then laughed some more. There was only one bullet hole and she was not bleeding, even though the gun was loaded. Furious, I threw her again down on the bed and grabbed a handful of things off my desk, lobbing them at her in spite. Among them was a pair of scissors. I grabbed them and stabbed her furiously in the back several times. She gasped, but only continued to laugh. Then, having had enough, I held her down and cut off the end of her ear. It was slow work. She was still trying to laugh, but by the time I cut off her ear, she began to show signs of screaming under her laughter. The screaming frightened me for some reason.

And then I woke up.

I wonder if that's a normal dream.

More later.