I often have highly-symbolic, narrative dreams. I’m told that’s common with bipolar disorder, but people like ascribing things to mental illnesses, so I’m not sure how much stock to put in that.
Night before last I dreamed I was at some sort of combination SF/F convention and home and garden expo thing held inside a really big mall. All the “shops” were suites where people basically lived, doing their thing.
There was a huge glassed-in house — a really nice one — right in the middle of the three-story open area in the center of the mall. I don’t know why, but I knew I had to go live there. I didn’t want to, though. It was furnished and looked comfortable, but the walls were see-through, and there were people going in and out all the time.
I couldn’t get into any of the other suites. The doors were locked, or they wouldn’t let me in. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and was getting pretty frustrated, when some guy came up and said I could go into his room with his friends where they were having a party with drums and dancing, and I was welcome to come and stay there if I would dress for the occasion.
Not having any alternative, I agreed, and went to get dressed.
I got my black wolf-skin and put it on. I dropped to all fours and trotted back. I could see my reflection in the glass walls of the house, the glass walls of the elevator, and the glass below the rails. I looked like a wolf trotting, only the occasional flash of knee or elbow to break the illusion. I thought I looked pretty good.
I went back to the guy, who was waiting for me.
“I’m dressed,” I said, bouncing from foot to foot. “Hey, hey, look, I’m a wolf!”
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he said.
“Well, these are the only dancing clothes I have,” I said, then added, defensively: “Wolves can dance.”
“Where the hell did you even get something like that?”
“It was going to be thrown away after the wolf died and didn’t need it anymore, so I took it. It’s all right. What’s left of her doesn’t mind. Isn’t she beautiful?” I was naked underneath, but he couldn’t see it. The wolf-skin wrapped all the way around me.
“Well, you can’t come to the party,” he said, and I realized that he had only wanted me there to fuck him and his friends, and I got angry. I pulled the wolf mask over my face and growled at him. He ran away, back to his room.
Downstairs, a commotion started. Screaming, the sound of things breaking. I looked over the rail and the big glass house was on fire. Everything inside had been made of flash paper. It hadn’t even been real. I watched the orange flame blossom inside the walls, watched black smoke flood against the cracking glass ceiling. I laughed.
Still in my wolf-skin, I trotted outside into the dark and sat on a hill, watching the mall burn down, smoke streaming up into a heavy sky. The moon hung over it all, huge and yellow.
There was still nowhere for me to go, and I had nothing but the wolf-skin, but it was strangely satisfying watching everything burn.
. . . Yeah. Not symbolic or anything.
It was a pleasant dream, though I can’t say it’s a particularly hopeful one.