I’ve got one of those cold/flu-like things that start out with a sore throat and fever and progress to a drippy nose and generalized bleariness. So my dreams last night were especially vivid and unpleasant.
In one of them, I was Ron. I have Harry Potter dreams occasionally, and often I become one of the characters for moments at a time. This time, I was Ron and I’d been captured by Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy because I had knowledge of where some secret powerful thing was hidden. Except I didn’t know till they started torturing me, and then I realized that not only did I know where it was, I was holding onto it. The powerful thing, whatever it was, was enclosed in an ordinary Snitch. So I had it and was holding onto it despite their attempts to get me to give up my knowledge. So Voldemort authorized Lucius Malfoy to hit me with this stuff squirted from a hose – and I was writhing on the floor with this stuff hitting me in the back like a pale blue light searching my insides, cold and unbearable, like electrical shock. It got so bad that I gave in and went limp, but once it stopped I remembered myself and that I had the Snitch, so I steeled myself again. Except then Voldemort himself got down onto me, and then I stopped being Ron long enough to see Voldemort cutting off Ron’s hair with cruel scissors and Ron crying. When that was done, he hugged Voldemort, as Winston reached out to his torturer in 1984. So then Ron was one of Voldemort’s contemptuous zombies, with hair like a doll’s that’s been pulled out except for the roots, but he still unbeknownst to them had the Snitch and attempted to sign this to Hermione at breakfast later. She didn’t figure out his sign, but she seemed really glad that he was not completely consumed in Voldemort’s Hitler-like regime. I don’t know what happened after that.
Isn’t that awful? I wish there was some way to not sleep when one is sick. Or sleep without dreams. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of pleasant dreams I’ve had in my life.
Grumble, grumble, snark, snark.
In one of them, I was Ron. I have Harry Potter dreams occasionally, and often I become one of the characters for moments at a time. This time, I was Ron and I’d been captured by Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy because I had knowledge of where some secret powerful thing was hidden. Except I didn’t know till they started torturing me, and then I realized that not only did I know where it was, I was holding onto it. The powerful thing, whatever it was, was enclosed in an ordinary Snitch. So I had it and was holding onto it despite their attempts to get me to give up my knowledge. So Voldemort authorized Lucius Malfoy to hit me with this stuff squirted from a hose – and I was writhing on the floor with this stuff hitting me in the back like a pale blue light searching my insides, cold and unbearable, like electrical shock. It got so bad that I gave in and went limp, but once it stopped I remembered myself and that I had the Snitch, so I steeled myself again. Except then Voldemort himself got down onto me, and then I stopped being Ron long enough to see Voldemort cutting off Ron’s hair with cruel scissors and Ron crying. When that was done, he hugged Voldemort, as Winston reached out to his torturer in 1984. So then Ron was one of Voldemort’s contemptuous zombies, with hair like a doll’s that’s been pulled out except for the roots, but he still unbeknownst to them had the Snitch and attempted to sign this to Hermione at breakfast later. She didn’t figure out his sign, but she seemed really glad that he was not completely consumed in Voldemort’s Hitler-like regime. I don’t know what happened after that.
Isn’t that awful? I wish there was some way to not sleep when one is sick. Or sleep without dreams. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of pleasant dreams I’ve had in my life.
Grumble, grumble, snark, snark.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home