I’ve been having a lot of aviation themed dreams as of late. Flying cars, floating water parks, and now this. Near as I can tell, I was a member of the crew aboard a cargo plane delivering bread to the front lines of a war. Why bread? Got me, but it was evidently very important.
The plane itself resembled a B2 bomber from World War 2. Only the large glass canopy extended over the entire upper half of the habitable section of the plane. It was like being inside a flying greenhouse. There were crates filled with bread stacked up all around me when I checked the cargo hold.
Just then I heard a shout from the upper section. Before I reached the pilot in the cockpit, on account of the transparent overall canopy, I was stunned by the sight of an impossibly large zeppelin. It seemingly filled half the sky, and most of my field of vision. Then it began shooting at us.
As it drew closer I could see various platforms mounted to the exterior. Some supporting gun turrets. Others were enclosed grow space for crops to feed the crew, presumably so they could operate independently of ground support for months or years at a time.
The damage from the gunfire accumulated, shattering panes of the canopy, letting cold wind inside. Finally we started going down, both engines now on fire. Pretty soon we were in free fall. I was weightless, the plane’s interior spinning slowly around me as I grabbed at all the bread I could salvage.
I don’t recall the crash, only that the engines were jettisoned somehow and the plane was brought in like a glider, landing on the surface of the water with pontoons. The pilot was yelling instructions at me to get the bread unloaded before the enemy airship reached us. Sure enough I saw it looming on the horizon, slowly growing closer.
We found an abandoned cottage and lived off the bread long enough to plant some crops and raise them to harvest. Whatever nation we fought for never came to rescue us. The enemy airship landed and found our plane, but did not bother to search the island for us.
As the crops grew, I studied them closely and noticed something strange. Each time it sprouted a new leaf to either side, dew collected in a puddle within that leaf. This provided a sort of stepladder for tiny fish, who leapt from one puddle up to the next higher puddle.
At the same time, the plant itself seemed to be fighting back their advance. Closed flower bulbs angled towards the fish and shot seeds at them, like little gun turrets. Here’s a quick and dirty mspaint drawing of it. Something like out of a simple little mobile game or something, but playing out before my eyes.
It’s often the case that when I examine something closely in a dream, it turns out to be a little world unto itself, with its own conflict or drama going on that I would have been oblivious to had I not bothered to investigate. When I was little, I remember being obsessed with small scales.
I would crawl around in the yard looking closely down into the grass, imagining it was a forest. Which it was, to the spiders, beetles and ants that navigated it as they went about their business. This inspired me to write a well received trilogy of stories concerning a race of tiny people that the protagonist is the only one to know about.
I don’t see myself writing any riveting tales of aerial bread smugglers escaping weaponized dirigibles, however. Dreams have a pretty high signal to noise ratio, but there’s always some diamonds to be found in that dung heap by those willing to dig.
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