dream sequence - part 17

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a dream sequence here, but it doesn’t mean that I haven’t been dreaming. Lately my dreams have been subconscious fragments, lacking a coherent narrative as such. Well-rested, I could fashion them into a chaotic tapestry of sorts, but instead I awaken startled — anything but refreshed — and the shards fall to the ground, waiting to be trampled into dust.

I digress. A few nights ago I found myself in Madrid, rushing to get to the airport. I was last in Madrid in 1976, and my dream-Madrid was nothing like it. My friend and I were dropped off at the far end of a giant field that separated us from the main terminal. He took off in a sprint, and I followed close behind. Our flight was scheduled to depart at 7:30, and we were cutting it close.

An hour and a half later, I was alone at the terminal. My laptop was missing from my backpack, and I was frantic. The terminal was a surreal concatenation of small-city commuter air outposts and high-tech travel pods. Between terminals a motorized walkway was replaced by a series of vents that allowed travelers to float above the floor toward their destination. I was not impressed.

I woke up before the dream came to a conclusion. For all I know, I’m still in Bizarro-Madrid, minus laptop, minus a flight home, floating in destinationless climate-controlled circles.