I am standing just outside the auditorium with my uncle, mom, and Granny. We're talking, and I think something upsets me because I walk away. I have my jean blue messenger-style bag, full of my notebooks, and it's driving me crazy because it keeps slipping off my shoulder as I try to make my way to the corner of the middle school, across the street from the aud. One final time it slips off my shoulder like silk and crashes onto the cement in front of me, slightly underneath a parked car. Luckily, the lid flipped open but none of the books spewed out. I gather it up and frustratedly close the flap. It is now that I notice a little boy struggling to ride a bike. He keeps falling down, falling over, ending up flat on the ground, but every time he gets up and tries again. We end up at the steps leading up the the corner door of the middle school at the same time. He tries to climb up the stairs with the bike, and ends up sprawled on the ground again. I smile down at him, and say, "I admire you." He just looks up at me confused, so I elaborate. "I admire your determination. You keep falling, getting scratched up, but you never quit. I like that about you." I say kindly, and the boy looks at the cuts and road-rash on his knuckles that he's been ignoring. "It hurts," he says timidly, as though he's feeling it for the first time. I know that he doesn't want to go inside to get the wounds taken care of because he doesn't want to stop riding. "Well, you could go in and get band-aids put on them, and that would prevent you from getting any more because instead of your skin, it'd be the band-aid that gets scratched up." I don't think I get the entire sentence out, but that's what crosses my mind. Somehow he gets the idea and looks up at me excitedly. "I still get to ride?" I look him over, and other than the bad scratches on his knuckles, there's a deep wound on his ankle as wide as a baseball, at least a half-inch deep, and pooled with blood. I squint at it, thinking that it's not normal but not reacting to that conclusion. "You'll have to ask your mom first..." I say. He looks disappointed at this. I comfort him and tell him that he needs to get his wounds cleaned up, because, "It's no fun to ride when you're all hurt, because you aren't at the top of your game. You'll be better once you're healed." Again, I don't think I used that many words, but the idea was conveyed all the same. He accepts my help up, and I walk him inside. [End]
Relative to Real Life~
Night of September 22nd, 2013
Real-life characters: Mom, uncle, Granny, little boy.
Dream-created characters: None.
Real-life places: Street between aud and middle school.
Dream-created places: None.
Different than real life: Despite the scenery being spot on with detail -to the concrete stairs to the door to the street itself- I haven't but drove through it in my car- I haven't actually stood outside it or attempted to enter the middle school since I graduated well over 6 years ago, I don't know the little boy in my dream in real life.
Little boy = The little boy was a mixture of the boy from the "who matters most to you says a lot about you" commercial, and the boy that imitates Jensen Ackles' Eye of the Tiger "performance". The commercial seems to be everywhere, and I saw pictures of the Eye of the Tiger kid meeting Jensen Ackles in Dallas the day before I had this dream. It touched my hear that the kid met his hero, and I think that's why the kid stuck into my subconscious.
Precognitive: No experiences.