anger

Dream: It is night in a shipyard. I am having a heated discussion with an attractive young Indian woman who has a child slung on her hip and two more in tow on foot. Even though I am speaking the language we are conversing in, I do not recognize it. We appear to reach some sort of an agreement and she turns to walk back to the ship behind her, which is being loaded with various wares. I follow her but not before gesturing to two swarthy men behind me. They walk hurriedly past me toward the ship with large planks of American cheese that were obviously torn or broken from an unusually large pre-packaged slice of American cheese. They nimbly board the ship and proceed to place the cheese planks directly on what appears to be a steaming seasoned chicken breast approximately the size of a twin bed.
I walk around to the far side of the ship and encounter Kevin McDonald dressed in a veiled assassin-like garb made entirely of purple silk. His eyes clearly convey his malicious intent. I unfurl my own silk scarf and whip it to the side, where it deftly wraps around a short plank. I then whip the scarf outward, causing the weighted plank end of the scarf to wrap quick and tight around the Kevin McDonald-assassin. A tug on the scarf sends the assassin sailing directly towards me and, with a solid kick to his midsection, I send him sailing out. He lands in a scaffold structure where a ship is being built and explodes in a huge fireball.

Dream: I wake up in a bed of pea gravel surrounded by dirt walls, an open sky and cinder-box consistancy structures wound tight around the area like a boxy coral reef. My head feels like I have been drugged and I know from dream-instinct that I am an Asian man. I find a brown Jansport backpack next to me so I begin to investigate in hopes it will help me remember why I am here. It is full to bursting with hundreds of tiny little sneakers, all no bigger than my thumb-knuckle. I bring the Jansport backpack with me as I wind my way through the the rectangular rock-coral structures that fill my cell. I move slowly toward the other end of my canal-like cell, which appears to be more open. As I move out of the rock-coral structures, I see it is almost sunset. In this more open area, the high dirt walls give way to ordinary security fences with barbed-wire tops. There is a man here, staring down at me from the tops of one of the dirt walls. He is going on about how I cannot escape, that my fate is sealed. . .I hear him and know where he is, can even look at him but I do not know what he looks like. I vault the fence and begin to run in that all-to-familiar powerless next-to-no-gain dream-run that happens time and again. I get a short distance and I feel weak. I hear the voice behind me say something about "the little ones inside of you". I suddenly feel hot to the skin and weak and I notice a growing pressure inside of me. As I lose conciousness, I think of the dozens of tiny shoes in my backpack. . .