I hardly ever have real dreams, flying or not. They are always extremely abstract. I fear the day the will be able record my dreams…
A recurring dream that I had for about six years, was, as best as I can describe it, as following: not responsible for freaking people out
There are two shades of gray. One is sharp, the other soft. The sharp shade is what I am on. Then a string shrinks to a singularity, and I freak out, running through the gray, which I now gather to be the ground. Since there is no shading, and for some reason, the horizon is flat, I cannot see that the sharp gray is sharp because it is covered in brambles. I run, tripping over branches, but I cannot even see myself. I come to a sandbox, and one of the grains of sand is slightly shaded, easily discernable against the two shades of gray. I pick it up, and it allows me to see my hand, bloody due to my running. The string explodes, in a pinnacle of gravity. A tone of voice, sadist rings in my head. I cry out, but am rushed towards the point at the top of the distortion made by the whirling string. I see a red button, bright against the bleakness. I realize that it will stop all this, and I stretch my mind towards it, willing it to move. But no, I get sucked into the point…
And I wake up all sweaty. Each time I had this dream, I got closer to pressing the button.
Now THAT is weird.