Had the strangest dream on Friday night. Now, I normally look forward to nightmares; I love the rush of waking up drenched in sweat, panting, my heart trying to pound itself out through my ribs. Friday night’s, however, has left me wondering.
I was walking down University toward La Gauchetière, on my way to the Windsor station, when I realise that a rocket is docked in front of the station, flames shooting out of its tail. Now, this wasn’t a toy rocket, but an honest-to-god Gemini rocket from back in the ’60s. I could even make out the black ridges in the tail. So, in other words, the rocket was warming up for take-off. How I was able to get so close to it is beyond me; it was a dream, after all. I’m at the corner when the rocket takes off, the flames and fuel rushing out the back. Then, like one of the earlier Gemini/Apollo launches, the rockets gets about 100 feet into the air before falling back onto itself. I only had time to think, “Oh shit, this is going to be bad” before turning around and taking off running. By the time I had made about three or four steps, I realised the futility of the situation and simply threw myself to the ground, hoping that the intense heat would finish me off before I felt any burning.
So, I’m lying face-first on the grass of the church in front of the Windsor station, and the time is dragging. The force of the rocket’s explosion is blowing across my back, whipping up my clothes, I keep expecting to feel the heat, but nothing is happening. “Oh shit, this is going to burn,” I’m thinking, and force myself to be calm. Strangely, I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper down the levels of consciousness. Still nothing.
Finally realise that I’m not yet shuffling off this mortal coil, and decide to wake up. The cat’s looking at me, waiting for her breakfast.