Dream 2

So I had this dream where I'm at a dance. School-sanctioned, no alcohol in the punch; nothing crazy. I'm sitting at this table with these creeps I don't know when the DJ makes an announcement, telling the attendees to pair up with someone within licking distance and get on the dance floor. I try to pair up with this girl with hair like milk-diluted coffee, but some freak grabs ahold of her before I can do anything. She smiles crookedly at me as she's dragged away.

I know that there's this girl behind me, staring daggers into Occipital Bone, just about dying for me to turn around and ask her to dance. I splay my arms out in front of me, like I'm tired or something, and pretend to be asleep. I'm "sleeping" on the table when these two guys, matching faces and suits, come up to me. They ask me what kind of person sleeps at a dance.

They persuade me with enough whisperings of something more interesting for me to follow them. We walk, past the crowd of people bumping and grinding and gyrating and all other kinds of gestures. I look for the girl with the frappuccino hair and the contorted smile, but all I see is the a group of girls with blue skins rubbing up against each other. And still we walk, past he DJ with his funktastic afro and his crazy set-up of records and wires, into some dimly lit room.

Not much is in the room: a couple chairs, a couple of laughing kids in those chairs, and a girl hanging from the ceiling by her ankles, being laughed at by those kids in those chairs. I recognize the girl oscillating from the ceiling as the caffeinehead. She struggles against gravity's attempt to expose her underwear to the world, and honestly, I kind of want gravity to win.

I watch her swing around for a bit, but eventually the sight becomes so sad to watch that I untie her and let her down from the floor. Those kids in those chairs moan and groan and call me a buzzkill. I lead the girl back outside, her face more red than a ginger kid at the beach, back into the dance, but no one's there. The lights are on, the tables gone, and not a single Dixie cup on the floor. No blue girls either. I turn around to look at her, as if to find the answer to this riddle on her face, but she's already walking away.

And that ends the dream.