Crocodile Dream

My dream started off on a jetty in a place I do not know apart from in the realm of my dreams. Well, actually, just this one. The day was fair; not overcast, not bright and sunny. Just average. I came to this conclusion as it had no distinguishing features attributed to it. The weather was what it was. I had company, a male, who was a friend of mine. Although, in the waking world he would be no more than a stranger to me. His appearance was as blurry as the sky was blue, or grey. Now, I cannot put this down to time passing; the gradual disintegration of memory occurring, or merely the rough jagged edges of my dream itself. The dream began with us alone on this jetty, talking about three long, transparent packages I had. Two were lamb, filled with whole sections of the animal, bloody and unappetising - even to a meat eater. The other was far more interesting, but equally grim in its appearance. It was a whole crocodile in its fullest form, only skinned of its tough ridges and scales. We were discussing how to gut the things, and which one to gut first. To our dismay, neither one of us had ever performed such a task, so the packages remained intact. Just then, the packet of crocodile slipped away into the torrent of heavy currents and without thinking, both me and my partner dived in pursuit of the hunk of meat. The water was white and fast-moving, but we stayed in control the whole time. I retrieved the crocodile and made it back, swimming against the current, in speedy time too - a fair few seconds before my friend. 

After we clambered back up, we left the lamb on the jetty; knowing it would be safe and decided to leave the bright white yachts in the boat yard and go for a swim. The layout was strange. Behind the jetty lay the boats, and on the other side towards the rest of wide stream - at least 10 if not 15 meters in length - there was a mini water fall. And when I say miniature, that is exactly what I mean. It was a foot drop, but from there the calm placid water vomited aggressively in lively bubbling white water. The transition was abrupt, with no indication where all the speed and energy had come from. 

There were two things we had to watch out for, not that we had spoken about them, but in this dream they were given things that you would already know in the waking worlds (for instance, looking both ways before crossing the road). 

1) That we didn't get right to the end of the stream - if the boat owners caught us on their property, there would be trouble. No doubt.

2) That we stayed close to the edge of the stream. The jetty was on the right hand side, so it seemed appropriate and natural for us to indeed stay on that side.

With those unspoken rules in mind, we jumped back in the water, fully clothed, and began our mission. Within seconds there was already a major problem. The current was getting stronger and stronger and ultimately was a force we could not contain nor handle. We started off by staying within arms length of the high concrete edge, its texture mainly cut out by protruding flints, but the water pulled us out of reach and we were no longer in control. Although the doom felt impending, and there was truly nothing we could do, a few minutes later after been dragged out in the raggedy whirlpool of distress, we were somehow okay. The water had calmed down and spat us out at the other boat yard, marking that the other end of the stream, as it was now clearly in sight, but at a safe distance. Water sprayed mist ahead of the distant boats and assured our safety, comforting both our eyes through aesthetics and our minds through knowledge. No explanation was needed for how we came about to safety. We were fine and that is all that mattered. 

We sat with our backs against the wall, sitting on out new-found jetty, looking across the width of the water. A zebra casually slid past our view. He looked faded, his patterns and stripes that is. And the way he moved through the water was strange to watch. He didn't swim; I was sure his legs, although, concealed up to just below chin height by water, were gliding, sliding, almost, as if being pushed down a a ski slope. What made it rather odd was that the current must've acted as the slope, given that he was moving on a flat surface. He steadily moved on, as did time. Conversation must've been dull, as I can't remember any of the details that followed our wet expedition, but the next memorable fragment of recollection was quite frightful. At least, frightful enough for my two companions to gather their goods with haste and evacuate the area, leaving just me and the jetty. And the crocodile, of course - which for the whole part of our "current" dilemma, just a few unmeasurable moments ago, I could not remember carrying nor seeing. In fact it seemed that its reappearance only served the purpose of complicating the trouble I was already in. The harbour master, or someone to his effect, was walking towards me over a bridge I had not noticed before either. I couldn't understand what he was saying. He spoke English well enough, didn't have an accent I, wasn't talking quietly, yet I could not understand a word he was saying. I tried desperately to grasp onto just a few key words, just something, anything, but came away with nothing. It was like equivalent of blurry vision, but with sound; like he was trying to speak to me underwater. He was talking as he walked closer, appearing calm in both tasks. But it was terribly obvious he didn't want us there and I felt if I did not retreat a once I would be in grave danger. As he drew closer and closer I clambered around trying to gather my belongings, now including two phone chargers plugged into the jetty sockets. He apparently was getting angrier and angrier by each heart attack-inducing step. What was he going do do? I din't care to find out he answer to this question. It was taking me unusually long for me to grab all my things; the phone cables were getting tangled, the plug sockets refused to let go of the plugs. He was at the end of the bridge, now with both feet fully boarded on the jetty. I bent down, trying to jam the loose cables in my pockets, which felt as if they were either full or were rejecting the blasted things with relentless stubbornness. I finally banished them away in my, presumably soaking, trousers. But he was just 3, maybe 4 steps away from me now, with the disturbing appearance that he was learching over me, given the angle that I was bent down at. There was one last thing I had to grab: the crocodile. I scooped it up with no hesitation whatsoever and ran after my two friends, knowing that all would be okay, crocodile in hand.