A man I vaguely know is having dinner with a woman I dislike. He is a superhero of some sort, and I wish he would notice me. I am also in the restaurant, and the man is given a note from a woman. He goes into the kitchen, alarmed, and brings the woman back out to ask about the note. She explains that someone obtained a signature declaring that they can draw blood from all superheroes. The signature belongs to me – I am a sort of superhero, too, though I don’t know my powers or anything. I only have to glance at the signature to know that it isn’t mine – it’s signed very neatly, and with my nickname instead of my full name. The woman says that it doesn’t matter, that the man will still come to take blood samples, which is a big deal. The man and I go into the kitchen, which is now a headquarters for the superheroes. To make sure I can come and go, as I need to be a part of this, he draws a symbol on my sleeve – an M with an extra line coming off the end. It sounds like the superheroes are all depending on me, though none of them come out and actually say that. I find out who the man is who thinks he can take our blood. He has a book about the work he’s done on the most dangerous animals, so I takea large, heavy copy and begin to read it. Men who work for him come in after a while; I’m nervous so I leave, going outside to read. The book is fascinating and a bit scary – he’s done a lot of dangerous work and is very highly regarded. After a while a man comes out of the kitchen/headquarters and begins talking to me about a mission I’ll have to do. He’s soon joined by another two men who work for the blood drawer, who also have advice. Everyone begins by whispering and huddling together, but soon they are arguing, and I break free. Their advice is too confusing and I need time to think, so I begin to run. The jewelry I am wearing slips from me – a bracelet and rings – and my shoes slip off, and soon I am able to run faster than before. I run into familiar woods, back as far as I can go, where the path becomes overgrown and the trees thick, until i come to a tiny house where I go to think. The floors are wet, and at a first I think it’s because there has been flooding, but then an old man I know – a servant of some kind – comes back and says he’s been cleaning. We talk briefly, and I ask him a question about his family. He grows somber and says that the less someone like me knows about him and his family, the better. I am devastated – I’ve known this man for a long, long time – but after he leaves I grow somewhat angry. Why is he being like that? I just want to find the man who forged my signature and stop him from taking blood. The old man comes back and begins destroying my books, saying that I should know better than to get involved, and i run out of the shack, unsure of what I can do to help anyone.
[End Dream]
I haven’t written here in a long, long time, but this dream was so interesting that I couldn’t help myself.