Weirdest dream, huh? I love telling this story. I had this dream last year, by the way.
I was standing outside a house/insane asylum, where I was being kept. It was a nice, warm day (for whatever reason the grass is very vivid in my memory), and all of the supervisors were leaving. I was told to watch over Harold, who was slightly, uh, lacking in the mental category. However, he was an excellent painter, and spent the better part of the day standing in front of his easel. He reminded me of a little kid, and I liked him. I was determined to keep him safe.
Now, you have to understand, Harold looked like a kid in my high school (at the time, I didn't know his name or even his grade. I just saw him around sometimes, and he was distinctive enough to get sucked into my memory). This kid was very tall - six foot three or four, I would guess - and very thin. He was also extraordinarly pale, and had his hair bleached blond. It was often in a mohawk-ish thing, but not quite. The sides were left down and long. He wore gothic clothing, complete with rips, chains, and layered shirts. He didn't quite look real.
So, picture Harold looking like that. However, the Harold in my dream had one difference. He had a pair of square, thick, blue-lensed glasses (think 50s). Now, he didn't always wear them. When he put them on, he turned into...a bumblebee. Thus, he was Harold the Bumblebee.
Anyway, for reasons unknown to me, people were hired to kill us. (We were also the only ones left in the house. I don't know why, don't ask.) So, as we were in the house - Harold just kinda looking at his painting and me reading in the kitchen - the killers pulled up into the driveway. They started shooting. Naturally, we took off running. We went onto the front porch, and Harold slipped on his glasses and became Harold the Bumblebee.
Something happened. I was running, tripped, and looked back just in time to see Harold the Bumblebee be crushed. By a personal sized Pepsi bottle, no less. I was devestated, but he was obviously dead, so I ran on, crying.
Somehow I got away. I ran to a playground, and was trying to calm down and figure out what to do, when they pulled up again in cars. The other people in the playground - all fathers with small children (the gender of the children was not clear, which is odd, but I do remember that there were no mothers) - looked startled, but they did not run or try to stop anything. A few of the children screamed. I ended up trapped against a wall, and was trying to dodge bullets. I got away again and went running through the bushes, towards the force. They were still shooting.
Then I woke up. That's the weirdest dream that I remember, but I have a lot of weird dreams, so that's not saying much. Poor Harold the Bumblebee.
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"Nothing worth having is easy."
Three years!