(no subject)

We were fleeing the grass fires, the flame fronts washing over the plain like waves. I turned my head as I ran to watch in horror as the lions caught fire- thrashing on the ground trying to extinguish the flames in their manes, on their bodies, screaming and flailing in terror. I started to cry, and as I sobbed I lost my sense of direction and my will to run.
"MOVE". A deep voice rumbled in my ear and a firm shove got me moving again. I saw bikerbearmark run past, and I followed, knowing that subwoofr was right behind me, urging me on.
We made it to New Orleans, abandoned and damp, where the flames couldnt reach. Scorched animals wandered the streets as we walked- limping lions, smoking giraffes, sad hippos.
I woke myself at that point- I was becoming aware that my pillow was uncomfortably soggy, and that bikerbearmark and subwoofr were rather handsome and it would be a shame to turn such a sad, figurative dream into a tawdry fantasy. (Though I *had* wondered what subwoofr's voice sounded like... Mmmm....)