Last night I dreamed that
I was walking through a dry plain with a group of people whom I understood to be Somali refugees. It was a hot day as the sun beat down upon us, and we had very little water to complete the journey. They were all given red balloons by our guide, who said that the balloons would provide shade. Interesting. I walked with a very young boy who couldn’t have been older than 10; he carried the largest bunch of balloons and almost seemed like he would float away.
We finally reached what appeared to be a rest area, and when we went inside the facilities, it was dim but very modernly furnished. There was even a video game lounge with a couple of huge — like, as large as me — Pokémon plushes. Immensely excited, the little boy sat down to play on the Gamecube. Also excited, I sat down on another couch and threw the giant Arbok at him.
At one point, I happened to be in some kind of camp with a bunch of other Asian people my age. I was in the shower with Lee Kiseop…
Later at the camp, I got out of bed in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom with CL. The stalls were red and very Dr. Seuss-esque.
Suddenly, I was in Hong Kong again. Visiting for a vacation, perhaps? I was walking through the Prestige HK office with Vivienne Tang, though now the office was enormous enough to have its own staircase and granite wall tiles. Things had changed since I left.
I got the feeling that we were just meeting to catch up. We went to the cafeteria, which was also rather dimly lit, and met one of Vivienne’s friends from America, who also happened to bring along her friend Leighton Meester [insert excited squealing here].
She was so gorgeous. Huge eyes, wavy brown hair, super tan, talkative yet a little removed. I was mesmerized. Leighton and her friend were clearly obsessed with their DSLR cameras, so much so that they even took photos of each other’s cameras. A table away, some people were building a Transformer replica out of old mechanical parts.
After leaving the office, I took a bus to get back to wherever I was staying. A white guy who apparently knew me in high school came and sat next to me like we were two spies meeting inconspicuously. He pointed to the newspaper I was reading.
“Look at the obituaries,” he said. I saw that some professor had died. But the date of his death seemed unclear, unlike the other obituaries on the page.
“Look at the insert,” he said. There was another profile about that professor, only this one detailed a conspiracy theory that covered up his disappearance. I loved a good conspiracy theory. The bus veered to the left, and I understood that we were going to the cemetery to get to the bottom of this case.
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY
