Leni's dream diary

30/7/2025: I had a dream that I was walking to the bus stop that I used to frequent in the city I used to live in. I'd just passed the pub when all of a sudden the petrol station (which, in reality is in front of the bus stop, but was somehow behind) started rumbling. I immediately told everyone to get moving but the petrol tank exploded. Instead of catching fire, however, the entire street was showered with petrol. I only got sprayed a little bit but other people were completely doused in petrol.

Then, a priest from the church across the road (where I usually have choir practice), starts rounding people up. I can't remember this sequence of events, all I remember is him saying that this was not an accident and for people to just go home. I saw a crowd of people walk up the road with the priest looking defeated. I decided to go home.

I walked back home but the house I returned to was not one I was familiar with (though in the dream, it was meant to be my house). I remember calling 999, hoping to ask for the fire brigade or someone - just some help. The lady on the phone knew my name instantly.

"Hi, Leni. Do you know the difference between a softball and a baseball?"
"Can I get the fire service?" I asked with both concern and confusion, checking my phone to see if I had dialled the right number.
"There's nobody here." She sounded bored. Like she'd been getting this call all day and had given up humouring people the professional way. I asked what was going on, why everyone had been doused with petrol and nobody seemed to care.
"I just need you to stay calm. This will all be over soon."

I hung up.

To make matters worse, the BBC wasn't telling us anything. It was like the rest of the world had stopped. Calm before the storm. I poured myself a gin and tonic. There was a time skip in the dream during which I somehow ended up at my parents' house, which looked similar to my childhood home with a few cosmetic changes. They told me what they thought was going on, my father ever the skeptic. By this point, jets were flying over, spraying fuel over the land, over our house. The plan was just to burn it all and, by soaking the people in fuel, to take them down with it. Whatever the reason, we would soon be dead. I suggested a suicide pact -- something less painful than burning alive. My parents wouldn't let me do it. I remember just hugging them and crying. I must have been crying in my sleep too, for my eyes were puffy when I woke up.

Eventually, the time came. Fire rained from the sky, setting alight everything in its path. If the plan was to kill all humans, the execution was terrible. Our house burned, but we remained living and breathing; witnessing it all crumble. My half-conscious self decided to quit while I was ahead, to stop whatever nightmare I knew my brain was capable of conjuring. I woke myself up, not giving into the morbid curiousity.