You Have the Wrong Narrative

Last night I dreamed I was in a crumbling city, a world falling to pieces.

A crew of people were with me, but I'm not sure who they were. Warriors of some kind, I think (maybe my imaginary friends from The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim). They went around the corner and stopped.

I moved forward and went from apocalypse to Alice in Wonderland, a colorful corner of the world's ending where a woman named Jaquelyne (she spelled it for me twice) wearing a tailored suit with leggings and a top hat, brought me up short.

"You have the wrong narrative," she said.

"I know what a narrative is," I replied. "I'm a writer."

"You have the wrong narrative," she said again.

"What's wrong with it?" I wanted to know. I looked around but I was alone now. My warriors had vanished.

"You have the wrong narrative."

She kept repeating this, twirling around, producing a cane from somewhere and doing a little two-step.

"You have the wrong narrative."

Then, in the way of dreams, I found I was at a baptism. My father came in dressed in a blue robe and said he was Elvis. He was followed by lots of other people in blue robes, and someone handed me one and told me to put it on.

"I don't want to wear this," I said.

The woman with the top hat popped back into my dream.

"You have the wrong narrative," she said, and then danced away, twirling her cane.