Dream – March 23, 2014 – We were on a picnic…
We were sitting on a mountain. There were a lot of people around. A bit lower, on a plateau, there were huge swings, and a girl was swinging so high that when she rose up, we could see her laughing face.
And I was painting. I painted like this: I would toss paint into the air wherever I wanted, and it would become living trees on its own. That’s how I created the tallest, most beautiful pines, with branches right near their tops. I had barely thrown the paint when a pine tree sprang to life—and the wind even snapped off a small branch heavy with needles and cones. The branch thudded to the ground not far from us. Then I decided there wasn’t enough greenery and started throwing lots more green paint into the air, and suddenly, the branches were filled with leaves.
It was getting hot—we needed some shade. Out of nowhere, a parachute appeared. It rose like an umbrella over us and tilted a bit to one side, resting on the ground and shielding us from the sun. The wind blew into the parachute, but it didn’t fly away. We were enjoying the view from the mountain, the breeze, and the warmth of the sun.
Then suddenly, strange things happened.
Apparently, that wasn’t our parachute after all.
It flew away, carrying with it some kind of huge, long cylinder—like the ones used to transport liquid gas. Following it, another parachute, exactly the same, flew off, also carrying an identical cylinder. They were flying beautifully, and nothing seemed to foreshadow disaster. But.
Suddenly, the parachutes with the cylinders ended up in the path of either a plane or a helicopter—but actually, it looked more like a flying house. A house without wings or rotors.
This house got tangled in the parachute cords, caught fire, lost control, and started heading toward the city, to the south. It crashed there and exploded together with the gas in the cylinders.
Then I saw that the explosion happened right next to a factory.
I didn’t know exactly what kind of factory it was, but I knew one thing for sure: we were about to be hit.
Only a few seconds passed before the factory exploded. It was massive.
I started calling for my mom, wanting to hide with her in the bathroom, but she was already running somewhere, and I realized that hiding in a bathroom wouldn’t save me—I would just burn alive.
So I ran too.
Everyone was running.
Suddenly, it was like someone switched off the sun. Everything plunged into darkness, and only the glowing lava lighting the way behind us remained—racing after us, not down the mountain, but somehow uphill.
I managed to scramble up to a higher plateau where there was no lava. Meanwhile, the lava was already catching up to the people running, burning their ankles, making them cry out when it touched their shoes.
Then suddenly it all stopped.
The lava was gone.
Everyone was standing in small groups, wearing maroon jackets like hotel uniforms—with nametags and gold buttons. My mom was also in one of those jackets, but I couldn’t see her. I started searching everywhere, terrified that I had lost her. Just a moment ago, she was right there, and I had been talking to her—was it really over?
How many times in dreams have I lost my mother again and again—it’s impossible to count.
She would come back to life and then die or disappear again so many times in my dreams…
Fortunately, that night came to an end, and with it, the dream.