Dream stories

Book about dream stories will come out very soon. Here you can read some “samples”.

[In real life, we were digging a traditional dug well]

I was digging a well, and once I reached about 3 meters deep, water started to slowly seep in — coming from the corner closest to the house, which stood about 15 meters away. Over the next few days, that trickle grew stronger, a small hollow formed in the ground beside the house, and the water level in the well started rising faster than the pumps could empty it. Eventually, the well began to overflow, and a crack appeared in the wall of the house.

A few households from my home, there was a grand wedding celebration going on. I stood at my house watching the water flow getting faster and the sinkhole growing deeper. The crack in the house widened, and a deep sense of fear set in me. Water began pouring out of the hollow as well. Soon, it became a fast-flowing ditch. The crack in the house was now so wide that I could see from the yard straight into the house.

I ran to the wedding guests, and there was no need to explain anything, they could see for themselves what was happening and began packing up their party. I never even made it back to my house. That small ditch turned into a foaming river, carrying off large chunks of earth. One side of the house collapsed into the torrent, and shortly after, the entire structure followed. Everything rushed downstream, and oddly enough, just two plots over, everything looked perfectly normal again.

The water, along with everything it carried, vanished somewhere into the hedge and decorative plants separating the properties. In place of my home, there was nothing but raging water. It had taken everything, and on my plot, maybe a few square meters of lawn were left, everything else, gone for good, with no trace.

[A few weeks later, the real well was finished. I had planned for a 10-meter depth, but at 5.5 meters, the water yield was so good that in just four hours, the well filled to the surface. So we stopped there, and hopefully there’ll still be water even in a dry summer.]

In the summer of 2017, I took part in the Vätternrundan cycling event (300 km around the lake), and I’d love to go back someday to beat my previous time. Out of nowhere, in the middle of winter, I had a dream about being on that same ride again, but the format was somehow different.
The dream unfolded from the moment where women were skating 100 km on inline skates, and at the checkpoint, they had to switch the skates for bikes. The woman in front of me was just standing upright with her hands on her hips, her ankles resting against a horizontal bar. I saw the scene from a top-down view.
I started wondering what the hell I was riding myself, and the realization froze me: I was sitting on a volleyball referee chair with four wheels underneath and an engine attached. The steering was done purely by leaning, and there was only one lever for both accelerating and braking. Cold sweat ran down my body from the sight, and I tried to focus on the ride while also enjoying the perfect figure of the chick in front of me.
Hours later, we reached the checkpoint, and as I climbed down from the tower, I was extremely relieved that everyone was okay and the competition stage was complete. I stopped by a café and then went to find my bike, which had supposedly been delivered by a courier. From a distance, I noticed something suspicious about my bike, and as I got closer, it became clear that the frame was pretty much trashed. My carbon frame had turned into a steel one, welds were cracked in places, one tube was bent, and to top it off, extensive paint damage all over the frame. I was in total shock, just staring at the piece of junk for several minutes before calling over an event official.
“Uh, so, this is supposed to be my bike, but it’s the wrong one and clearly unrideable, what am I supposed to do in this situation?” I blurted out all at once.
The chick glanced at the bike and asked, “Which company was supposed to deliver it?”
“As far as I know, it was Matkakorraldaja OÜ,” I replied. (Hike Organizer Ltd kui soovid vahetada ingleseks)
She flipped through something on her tablet and simply said, “We’ll fix it, hang tight.”
After a short wait, they brought me a bike that was in perfect condition, except it was… pink all over. I looked at the bike, then at my outfit, it just didn’t match at all. That’s when it started to dawn on me: maybe something had gone even more wrong than just getting the wrong bike. No matter where I looked, I couldn’t see a single other guy, only women.
The fear that the bike I had in real life might actually be unusable became so overwhelming that I woke up, and couldn’t fall back asleep.
Thanks, brain.