I dreamed that I wrote and acted in a play. The story was pretty awful, for it was about a plane that crashed nose-first into the ground and stayed there. The main character, played by me, survived the crash, but decided to live the rest of his life up in the rear of the plane. He just built himself a bird-like nest up there and lived there. Throughout the story, two women try to win his heart, the first being his former wife, played by Amy Ennis, and the second was a young protest girl, played by actress Rashida Jones. We ran through the entire play, though my dream seemed to skip certain parts of it. At the end, I was not too pleased with the story, though I did think it was kind of interesting.
As I walked down from the tower that was supposed to be the plane (a spiral staircase lead to backstage), the director of the play stopped me in there and told me that he had another student of his (apparently this was at Bethel and I was a Bethel student) rewrite the play. Now that would not have been so bad if the first show was not supposed to have taken place to nights later. I was a little infuriated because many people had worked hard to build the sets and memorize the lines. However, the director reassured me that it was the best decision. He also informed me that none of the current actors would be acting in the play and it was going to be staged at a professional theater. What a waste of time all that work had been.
I decided to visit the other theater to see how things were going, simply because my name was attached to the project. When I arrived, I discovered that Faith (whose last name escapes me right now; she was a classmate of mine at Bethel College) was the rewriter of my story. She also happened to be directing the story, and she was busy pointing at actors and at different parts of the stage, telling people where to go and what to do. Professional people always point.
At that point, I was unable to watch my story get ruined, for I noticed from the set and the costume that the story had turned into a war piece. I decided to go next door, along with my father who had accompanied me to the professional theater, to a bar/stage.
When I walked in, two magicians were performing a routine. They asked an audience member to come to stage, and when a man in his thirties did as they asked, they handed him a shiny metal crystal they claimed to be magic. Instead of waiting for the trick and the awe, the man took off with the crystal, leaping off the stage and rushing out of the emergency exit. The two magicians followed him, each with a look of severe desperation on his face. I followed them all out of curiosity.
Outside of the emergency exit was a red city. All the buildings were red, and the road lines and lights were also red. The man with the stolen crystal jumped into a grey van, which proceeded to speed to the ocean, which was not far away. The magicians followed the van via motorcycle, and I chose to hitch-hike the two mile trip. It just so happened that Jonathan Ayee (a classmate of mine at Regent University) was driving a red convertible with the top down, and graciously took me to my destination.
When we arrived at the beach, I found that the magicians had already caught up with the thief, and they had hung the man up on a ten foot electrical pole. He was still twitching, but surely dead. To rub salt in his wound, the magicians stowed their motorcycles in the guy's van and took off. I stood alone on the beach and watched the waves approach the shore.
Then I awoke.
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