I have a lot of near-futuristic dreams. Don’t ask me why, cause I have no idea. Do I think they’re prophetic? Um, pretty unlikely cause they are usually rather off the wall. I’ve always had a fascination with science fiction that takes place 5, 10, 15 years down the road though, so it probably stems from the same source.

I’d say this latest one I had this morning takes place in about 5 years from now - or rather in a parallel universe five years from now. Often these dreams for me revolve around transportation systems and New York City, where I lived for a year in real life. Either I’m in NYC, or I’m trying to get there. I may be waiting in the subway, or I may be waiting at an elevated train platform, or trying to hail a bus, etc. Usually in these dreams, there is something horribly wrong with the transportation system. The national infrastructure is faltering. There are hundreds of people clamoring to get from here to there. Everything is running terribly off-schedule, and if you can squeeze onto the train or bus, you’re damned lucky.

In this dream, I was waiting with many other people at an outside train platform. It was also the junction of a bus route, yet neither of them were coming. Once in a while, the blown out wreckage of a train would pull into the station, operating automatically according to it’s programming still, unaware that it was damaged beyond use. And some of the people would still struggle and push one another to get on it anyway - often only to die later on down the tracks when they train exploded or toppled over.

In my dream I was dressed like some kind of warrior - weird equipment, a sword and some other stuff. I had three companions dressed similarly but in their own unique style. I spoke with a female police officer, trying to squeeze information out of her about the transport situation, and got nothing useful. Then off in the distance, I spotted a narrow rickety stair case leading up to another platform. I signaled my companions and we went to explore it, leaving everyone else to their fate below. As we scrambled past the crowd, I saw my grandfather in the crowd dressed as a deacon, offering me some kind of blessing before I left forever. I couldn’t hear it, but I touched my forehead, chest and shoulders in the sign of the cross and ascended the staircase. It was covered in rubble, but the four of us climbed it up and out.

At the top, a new vista opened to us. It consisted entirely of rubble and blue-grey flat stones in piles like small hills. We heard ominous chanting coming from around the bend, and ducked down to avoid being seen. I crept up the side of a rubble hill, and peered over. Before me I saw the edge of the ocean and standing there a strange Bishop presided over a crowd of fanatical warriors, kneeling down so their faces touched the earth. From his speech to the assembled masses, I somehow knew they were Muslim warriors who he had converted to Christianity. But their loyalty lay not in Christ but in the Bishop. Each wore a brown full body robe, combined with a bright orange sash and headwrap. At the Bishop’s command, they rose to their feet, shouting in unison, “KA-SHOOM! KA-SHOOM! KA-SHOOM!” And they streamed out of the rock valley where they’d gathered, presumably to wreak havoc upon the world. My companions and I hid from them, remaining as quiet and out of sight as possible, knowing that if they saw us, they would rip us limb from limb in their frenzy.