The world was made of Legos… or something like it. I remember there was a reason, like something I did, or somewhere I came from led to this, but I don’t remember what exactly. I do recall that there was some sort of co-ed fraternity that I was a part of. I found our box of decorations after it had been put away. I was helping clean up after a party, and the box was put away too soon. I carried the final decorations to where it was stored, only to find the box was already quite full. I remember being upset at how so many of people’s personal belongings were in the storage box, but was told that they were used as costuming only, even though they belonged to individual members and not the group as a whole.
As I was leaving the area, I went through a pixel or Lego land. It was a very strange area with a toxic river and little things that seemed to be stop-motion animated. The whole thing felt rather surreal. It was at this point that I controlled a small rocket with a little handheld controller I found. It was shaped a bit like the SNES controller. Making the rocket fly got the attention of some others in the area, something that I neither expected, nor wanted. I had to jump on a small log-like thing and rode through the river before I got to a miniature Japan area.
I walked through the streets, seeing Japanese characters and realized that it really was a weird mini clay seeming Japan that I found by steering a log through a stop motion river, passing through an industrial area, and surviving the toxic waters. The islanders had no idea they were miniaturized nor did they seem to realize that they appeared to be clay. They went about their day as if it was business as usual. As I got closer to the island to inspect it further, I realized that rather than looking down on it’s people, I had become them. As I walked and moved among them, it became more and more difficult for me to notice that they looked clay, or maybe their features were just getting more detailed. Soon, I too began walking the streets as if I belonged there. I saw a kid on a skateboard and couldn’t help but wonder if it was a Tech Deck, that toy from the 90s. Before long, I had no idea why I would think something like that, and pushed the idea from my mind completely.
The world around me seemed so real that I soon wasn’t able to tell if it was stop-motion, or reality. I found myself in a small bakery, but rather than everyone speaking Japanese, everyone talked in English. I went up to the counter and ordered a cookie. While I was waiting, there was a young woman, about mid 20s, yelling at the lady behind the counter and accusing her of stealing her grandmother’s recipes. She had wild curly blonde hair, that shook when she spoke, and was livid. She hollered at the employee,claiming that the cute cupcakes and pastries their company claimed to have created were stolen from her family and how they should be shut down. I finished paying another worker for my cookie and sat at a small round table munching on my treat and watching the drama unfold.
The cookie wasn’t all that good. I remembered thinking I could taste the baking powder… Or was it baking soda? I could never remember which of those is which. A woman with long dark hair took the seat across from me. She was holding a strawberry filled roll, not like a pastry roll, but like a hotdog roll or maybe it was a baguette, and staring at it intently, like she may have expected something from it, or from me? Finally, she spoke, saying that she knew she knew how to make it (I assumed she was referring to the strawberry roll), she just couldn’t remember. She continued that if her mother were around, she’d know what to do, but she’d be very disappointed. I stared at the woman a little longer. She looked to be in her late 40s but the way she was talking she sounded like a little girl.
“What’s the matter?” I finally said to her.
“Oh,” she said looking up. “It’s just that this shop stole my mother’s recipes and they’re not coming clean about it. The media keeps spinning it as if we were the ones who are in the wrong, meanwhile our shops keep getting closed down.
I looked at the strawberry roll in her hand then back at her. “You know, I just ate a cookie here and it tasted awful. Too much baking powder, or soda… I said”
“Baking soda,” she said definitively, looking at the remains of the cookie I still had sitting on a napkin. “That’s not our recipe,” she continued, her voice hard.
“So, maybe go after a bakery that has better tasting goods?” I offered helpfully. “I mean this one is internationally recognized, but…”
“Yes, I know,” she interrupted, “but their bread rolls, and cupcakes those are ours, my… Amy (I don’t remember her name) gets a little carried away. The media follows her and her accusations, we really have no proof aside from the taste.”
I looked at her, unsure what she wanted me to say.
She looked back down at the roll “But now, I’m not even sure I know how to bake,” she said, unable to hide the anguish on her face.
“You could try to gather evidence, build a real case. If a shop actually stole your, mother’s recipe, I’m sure there’s some proof around,” I said, more as a question than an outright statement.
She gave me a hopeful smile as we both heard Amy at the counter, yelling and screaming about something before standing over us at the table. She didn’t seem to notice my presence as she fumed at the dark haired woman I was speaking with.
“We’re done here,” she said, grabbing the older women by the arm and dragging her out of the cafe.
I stared at their backs as they left, then considered if I should take another bite of my cookie, before deciding not to.
The dream then flashed over to a third person view to the two women. They were in what I assumed was either their home or their bakery. My view panned, something like a dramatic scene in a movie, over to a strange pod. Inside was an older women, wrinkles at the corners of her gently closed eyes. Still, as if time itself was frozen with her as she slept. Her face greatly resembled the woman with dark hair, as if looking into what her future self would be but with one distinct difference. Rather than straight dark hair, this woman’s curly blonde hair was wild, and more untamed than the blonde’s from the cafe. Both women kneeled in front of the pod and quietly said, “Soon, soon we will be able to bring you back.”
This was the third dream I had in a series of (at least) 3 dreams last night. I got as many of the details down as I could remember, but as always, there may be some things that were changed or left out from the actual dream.