This dream was dreamt in the early hours of the morning while I was feeling horribly ill and dehydrated and as such it was possibly trying to comfort me in some way. It was quite hallucinatory and very sentimental for myself towards the end.
I dreamt I was partying with angels that had most likely fallen from heaven. They appeared to be in the bodies of everyday women, mostly in their thirties or forties, from various different backgrounds, and seemed confused as to whether they were actually humans or actually angels. Perhaps they were neither, or both? They seemed confused about most things, I had to teach them how to drink. After a while they got the hang of it and my conscious skipped some time before finding itself in a jewellery store, where I was watching one of the angels, who was wearing long, sweeping, over-large clothes draped over her thin, sticky body, as she wove together the collection of rings and bracelets to create a sort of metal shawl. I had a slight awareness of the other angels dancing and revelling in the broken glass cases around me.
The police were inevitably called (can you use the word inevitable in a dream? Since they so often don’t make any sense) and all but one of us were arrested and put into the back of the police car. The one angel that was left was short and stocky and wearing a smart grey suit that was gently bulging round her middle. She had somehow managed to impress the owner of the jewellery store and had somehow managed to avoid arrest and get employed instead.
I lost touch with the other angels, and time skipped forward in the dream, until one day I was receiving a call from the hospital. The angels bodies were damaged somehow. When I got to the hospital, all the angels were lying in these hospital beds looking catatonic, completely unresponsive. As well as all the female ones I had met before, there was a man who was unfamiliar to me, yet familiar because he too was an angel, as well as a baby, who was moving and smiling but in a creepy way, smiling at nothing and completely unaware of itself and its surroundings. I was ridiculously sad and crying over these angels, at a complete loss of what to do, when suddenly I heard singing. I looked around, and there were all these visitors in the hospital, watching me crying over the angels, and I pushed past them, down the corridor, following the singing, until I reached the reception. It was my dad, standing by the entrance of the hospital and singing and playing the guitar (as he does). I went up to him in amazement, and said ‘Dad, you’re an angel?’ And he laughed and said, ‘No, of course not’, but in that way that he does where he says something with a grin on his face where you know he’s completely bullshitting.
I brought my dad over to the angels beds and gave him a sentence on a bit of paper, which unfortunately I cannot remember at all, and my dad sang the words from the bit of paper, and played his guitar to accompany them, and his singing brought all the angels back to life!
All my stories end so abruptly, even the ones my subconscious comes up with.