more dreams

The other night I dreamed of a cat, not mine exactly, but a cat, or rather several cats, but one in particular that, when I reached for it, turned into a bird but with bat wings and then lifted out of my reach.

Last night I dreamed I was being strangled by a man I did not know, a man for whom this was not a temporary rush, but one who clearly intended to see me dead. In my effort to escape him, I climbed a deep shelf against the long wall of double paned windows in this large and rather sound-proof room. I kicked him and he bent my arm back, snapping my wrist. I screamed and screamed but hardly a sound came out, as though my sounds were being vacuumed right out.

A smaller set of windows near the ceiling appeared to have once had cranks that would open them, though the handles had been removed. I pinched the end with my good hand until it barely began to open. I screamed again, imploring the row of girls sitting on the other side of the glass to help me. They sat motionless, expressionless, flipping through magazines as though waiting in a doctor's office, twirling their hair and staring at (through?) the activity occurring behind the glass before them as though it were the climax of a television drama.