Last night I dreamed an apocalypse.

The dying weeks of a world gone mad, played out in spotlights of real-time in the way only a dream or high budget TV show could do, where various of my communities had packed up to spend their last days in a gigantic maze of prefab houses, pushed together and sealed against the world.

There were courtyards and terraces, and there were great moments of friendship and terrible feuds that poisoned whole sections. In the end, the world was saved, and the apocalypse averted, but the government decided that since we had all prepared for the end, they should see it through.

As we prepared slingshots to catch the missiles and throw them back, the dream faded and the specifics washed out into blooms of pencil-outlined sketches in a sea of merging watercolour, and scant details remained: A ramshackle community built of the houses we brought with us, a nuclear missile being redirected with the aid of a large palm tree and a bouncy castle, and a long-running sense of inexorable impending doom.

So in a way, my dreams are coming true.

(Header image by Hucky on Pixabay, used under licence)