Chapter 1 - James "Groundhog Day" Bond Will Return In...finitely.
The journey begins rather stereotypically in some male power fantasy fashion finding myself possessing the body and skills of a James Bond type figure. It becomes quickly apparent this is the old fashioned style Bond however as there's no real fear, seriousness or dark undertones to anything only blockbuster hollywood approved safe doses of mild unrealistic tension. I begin infiltrating a supervillain's lair or possibly just their dinner venue as it seems to be a fancy medium sized, two-storey cafe and restaurant based in Venice or possibly Paris.
I sneak around a bit, shoot and beat up a few henchmen, retrieve a non-specific macguffin of value, exchange a momentary battle of smirks with the supervillain himself and escape exhiliratingly by the skin of my teeth but with no marks or consequence to my flawless appearence.
Really i'm amazed the alarm bells of dreamland didn't start thundering away at this uncharacteristic detail alone.
I can't remember the aftermath of the escape, there is no chase scene, no debriefing and before i can blink an eye (which i may not have done anyway being unconcsious and such) i'm back infiltrating the restaurant again. This happens multiple times, over and over again with only minor changes each time. I think in one scenario the macguffin of value was just my coat that i'd left there and another time two particularly goofy looking henchmen (who are resurrected seemingly with every new incarnation of the heist) began to give chase in a pedallo. They were out of luck in case you were wondering since it was situated on dry land and the unwieldy giant plastic duck shell merely grinded ineffectually on the pavement outside the cafe.
The unending time loop of suave action-comedy is only brought to a halt when Eva Green as Vesper Lynd struts across a nearby bridge towards the cafe. It's a strange metaphor for the modernisation of Bond films as she looks incredibly out of place here but remains aloof and sultry regarding us all with silent disapproval or pity. Particularly myself who sits slack-jawed half way changed into a racist caricature disguise of a Mexican musician. Why i thought this disguise would benefit me in Venice or Paris i have no idea but like i say, there was very little threat involved in any of this.
Chapter 2 - And The Winning Ticket Is...Nothing But A Conceptual Fabrication...
I find myself in a bustling food court, struggling to make my way past people and to the selection of food i desire. So far, absolutely nothing extraordinary or surprising happening here. An arrogant, mocking prick buzzes around in front of me, impeding my progress more effectively and infuraiatingly than anyone else. There are simply too many irritating people in my brain for me to pinpoint who he may have resembled exactly but he prances around, flicking and throwing food at me with a constant tirade of juvenile namecalling reverberating through my skull in surround sound. He's of a weedy, ratty build but yet has that jocular smug expression where the chin appears to be to be scaling the face of his face.
I push him aside and scowl onwards making a conscious effort not to actually become violent or abusive towards him (for some reason, my morals are important to me in this particular fantasyland). I take a tray of food from the far end of the food court and to avoid the bell-end on the return journey i step onto an outside balcony through some glass doors. It's snowing heavily with a blustery chilling wind but it's of no concern for the five seconds i'll be out in it and i quickly re-enter the court, spying the pestering bollock looking around for me to no avail.
Again i notice my coat and the need to retrieve it, along with my tattered old string bag. Two policemen are inspecting them nearby and seem about to confiscate it when i dart forward to recover the items. They merely comment that i need a new wallet and i agree, stating my current one's tendancy to explode when over capacity on loose change. This seems to satisfy their suspicions that the loose bundle of coins in my bag was not in fact an incredibly unfruitful bank robbery looting or something.
I finally find a seat and sit down in the uncomfortable, muggy overcrowded food court as a raffle lottery event begins on a previously unseen stage at the front of the hall. I spiral my neck around once to see the overenthusiastic fancy dress game show host and tilt up slightly to see a huge board of numbers in front of me currently at zero. The contest is of no real interest to me until i'm handed a letter saying i've received three votes, thus increasing my chances of winning...Because this is a lottery raffle thing that is both random and has a public voting system apparently.
One of the votes is from a guy at work who i barely know but says some amusingly psychopathic things on ocassion. Another is from a girl who i either have no more information on or can't remember said details and the third person is a complete mystery.
"Oh well that's cool i guess. I feel a bit better that people would vote for me in something like that, that's nice." I think and return to my food, still largely indifferent to the proceedings.
The huge board of numbers reveals itself to be a slot machine window and the numbers begin spinning rapidly. The results are as follows: 50 5 50 10 1, making the winning prize fund fifty million, five hundred and fifty thousand, one hundred and one pounds...i think, i'm terrible at maths. It was a lot anyway. The room erupts into applause despite me not hearing a winner announced. I look around and some but not all people are looking my way. "It must be someone else" I sit awkwardly for a long time, assuming the winner will appear on stage and it isn't until a large dinner-lady type woman hands me a wax trophy that i realise i have in fact won this random, not-random food-court slot machine lottery raffle thing.
I fumble towards the stage thinking i have to make a speech but to my chagrin some bearded guy does it for me. After that i don't remember anything of getting home or informing anyone, i simply wake up in the top bunk of my old bed in my bedroom at my dad's house and begin panicking that it was all in fact a dream. Mum enters the room and tells me to get up. I wearily stir and try to observe for any evidence of my winnings, either through items on my desk or things mum says. I get yelled at when i try asking about the money and why i can't remember anything last night because apparently i somehow locked mum outside when i returned home. It's unclear if she was outside all night or how she got back inside but she is understandably very pissed off with me and i conclude in despair that the magic lottery winnings were in fact all a dream.
Chapter 3 - Mercy Killing In Mitch's Back Garden...
A group of unfriendly military types from my upcoming story have taken two of our friends hostage. The leader being a smug bastard who, to be fair, narratively is perfectly within character to do something like this but i still obviously hate him in this scenario. It's oddly convenient but still unusual that the two hostages aren't referred to by their actual names in this sequence for some reason. Given that this dream was more of a nightmare and gets quite dark i'm going to roll with that and leave them unidentified...Tara and Mel are visible from the far end of Mitch's garden but none of us can get a clear shot on any of the guards and soldiers.
Leigh is equipped with some standard assault rifle and is edging forward up the garden while Nathan has something similar with a baseball bat cellotaped to the bottom. Mitch remains by the door to the house, presumably guarding munitions or being a medic or something i can't recall, and another Mitch is with me and Charlie by the alleyway of the garden. Mitch takes point, surveying the area through a sizeable, complicated modern sniper rifle, Charlie sits behind him doing nothing that stuck in my mind evidently and i behind Charlie, having apparently received the short straw in the artillery handouts wielding only a medieval crossbow...
It becomes a sort of unspoken harsh truth that we may have to kill our friends, the hostages if we can't rescue them safely. I believe the reasoning for this was that they would undergo far worse torture were everything not resolved at this current impasse. Tara and Mel are brought to the middle of the garden and knelt down next to each other.
Someone, somewhere fucks up the stand off and all hell breaks loose with hostilitys and gunfire raining off everywhere. Leigh and Nathan run forward and quickly become floored and wounded. Sniper Mitch aims down the rifle but takes no shots for some reason. I tag a girl in the shoulder with my crossbow but then feel really bad about it and she just sits down at our side of the battlefield and swears at me for a while.
With Tara and Mel caught in the crossfire, the panic skyrockets and we realise the last resort must be resorted to. Tara and Mel even scream at us from across the chaos "DO IT, DO IT, JUST KILL US, KILL US!" which is more than a little creepy to be dreaming about but justifies the in-dream-rationale slightly i guess...Whole thing seems a bit of a drastic overreaction in retrospect but that's dream logic i suppose.
I look over to Leigh, Nathan and Mitch who are unconcsious, crawling further into the battlefield unwilling to do the deed and straight up sitting in the corner scared and refusing respectively. Sniper Mitch is also backing down from the hostage killing despite being the best equipped to do so quickly and painlessly. I glance at a guilty Charlie and i realise i'll have to do it myself. I imaptiently tell Charlie to give me a gun and he fumbles around in his coat pockets producing a pistol the size of a spud gun.
I hold my hands up in surrender whilst still holding the pistol and walk onto the battlefield. I kneel down behind Mel and Tara and say the following "Don't worry i'm not going to attack you...well...obviously i am, but you know what i mean." Mel laughs and replies with "I never thought you'd be the one to do something like this." I think about replying but instead just load the gun and aim it at the back of her head. Thankfully i begin slipping out of this deranged delusion as i pull the trigger, meaning i at least never have to harm Tara but to be honest by this point, things are traumatising enough.
I finally wake up for real and ponder what a fucked up subconcious i seem to have...
No comments:
Post a Comment