I am in a corridor, with my back to one wall, there is an open wall opposite. I am wearing a waterproof anorak, my head is bowed, I have longer hair than in real life. There is a locked black gate, like a portcullis to a medieval castle. I am distressed as I have left my flat, I can’t go back and can’t change my mind. There are no people but I hear two voices, one says “you have the flat for life, you can die there if you want”, the other is a fortune teller, over-dramatically saying she cannot tell me of my future due to her dread. I am then at a beach, swimming in the sea. I have a brown torso and pasty white legs, with hair to my waist, and a beard and moustache. I swim out to sea and can’t see the shore. As it is a bay I know that if I swim in one direction I will likely meet land, and so I choose a direction and do then get to land. However, it is a mile from my clothes and tent, and I walk to them.
I am flying over terrain and rivers and roads and come down in Islamabad. I know it is there as I am outside a hospital and can see huge black crows in the dry grass of the hospital grounds. The hospital has smooth cement walls outside and inside, no decoration. I am then in a hospital room, it has a metal framed bed but nothing else, no equipment. I am watching the woman in the room, she has a long shawl and faceless body, like a ghoul. She goes into the bathroom, a smaller room with no window, very little light. There is an old squat toilet, a stool, and a bucket for a bath. I know it is my mother’s aunt, she dies in the room, the water she is washing with has killed her. I don’t see any fear, or pain.
There is a small fluffy brown furred dog, two months old, the size of my hand. It looks weak. It is with its mother and five or six siblings, which are growing. I feel mutual attachment between me and the dog. I am worried about its health and so I put it in a small bag and carry it with me all the time. I am then in a large bright room, and we are fighting colourful cartoon zombies. Our weapons are children’s toys, and sticks, one person shot a zombie which turned into dust. I wanted the dog to be OK, I felt it and its body was cold, I thought it had died and I was sad. But after a while its body became warm and I was relieved.