Just a weird dream that stuck with me · 2:11pm Jan 19th, 2021
Had a weird dream last night, decided to write it up.
There was an alien world with a structured, orderly society. It was in my dream something like a mix of different Japanese periods and cultures, if that helps give you a touchstone into it. These aliens were much like humans in many ways, save that they had only one biological sex but many genders that existed purely as social constructs. Instead of being born with a gender it would be decided by the way one acted and presented themselves and was caught up in as many social mores and honor and tradition as everything else in their orderly, structured society.
None of their genders corresponded perfectly to those of humans, but humans had recently come to their planet and brought their ideas along with them. The human ideas of what male and female were and could be had begun circulating around as a fad, but those genders didn’t quite fit into society and any of the aliens trying to present as them had no real place in polite society.
The dream begins in a rather traditional alien family. A patriarch, who spends his time and energy working and creating art, and which the rest of the family serves and in turn are given a place to live and pursue their own work until they are skilled enough to be the central hub of their own homes. A matriarch, who maintained the household until having children and now serves as an emissary of the house and connects it to other households through the complex social net of gossip and meetings and parties. Four brothers, who maintain the house and hone their own skills.
One brother is particularly talented in the same art as his father, an art of combining words and images into paintings in two-colored ink that convey a story, something like poetry but requiring artistic talent as a necessary component in addition to the words, where the way the script was painted was as important as what was said, and the glyphs were incorporated, sometimes hidden, into the elements drawn into the scene.
This brother was also interested in humans and their culture and their art and had some pictures purchased from human traders in his room. This was mildly shameful in some ways, but only mildly, something like enjoying punk music or liking anime just a bit too much. He was the most skilled of his brothers in the word-art their father produced and often worked near him. Not alongside him, not acknowledged by him, but tolerated in the same space, allowing the brother to watch the way he painted the strokes of letters and cared for his brush and conducted himself while painting the two-colored ink onto the page. Maybe he was proud of him but probably not, for the father was extremely traditional and the brother sometimes incorporated those human ideas into his work, something the father did not approve of.
Not that this was said during work. The art of creation was sacrosanct, and even when he was pleased - if he was ever truly pleased - the father did not speak to or acknowledge the skilled brother while he was at work. The work supported the family, and was the reason the father existed. To disturb him was unthinkable and to allow himself to be distracted would be to show that he was unworthy.
One day, the four brothers went fishing. The three less-skilled brothers were annoyed by the actions of their youngest and most skilled sibling. They had conspired to bring him along on this trip, because they had a plan. Once they were out at sea, far from where any cries could be heard or struggles could be seen, they stripped him of what made him a brother. Remember now that these aliens only had gender as a social construct, so in taking his beard, his clothing, his trappings of being a brother, they took away his brotherness as well.
To their sibling, they gave, mockingly, the human things that they had kept secret in their room. A blonde wig, human clothing, and so on. They became a sister, but trapped that way instead of by choice, and in the kind of alien, shameful extreme that meant that other members of their society would never listen or believe them if they asked for help.
They returned to land, and the sister tried to tell people what had happened, but they would not listen, because she looked like a shameful alien-pretending deviant. She’d been turned not just into a girl but one that was outside their culture and so who could not be spoken to directly, for the aliens dealt with things outside their experience by ignoring them and so she was ignored because she did not fit into the social constructs that would allow them to admit she existed and was speaking to them.
She found her mother in the market and tried to explain that her brothers had done this, but the mother did not even recognize her, or pretended not to. Perhaps it was because she was in public, making those important connections, and did not want the others to know the fate of her once-son. Perhaps she would have helped later, perhaps not, but in the moment, in public, in the open, she shunned the blonde unknown that had come begging for help.
The sister returned home. Her father was there, working, and did not acknowledge her. This, at least, was no different from usual. She realized that she had no place left in the family, because her taste had already been a source of shame, but one that was hidden and contained. Now that it was in public, it was too great for the family to bear. She took what things she could from her room and sat behind her father, her bag at her side.
There, in the place she had practiced the same work as the master of the household, the sister wrote one final poem-painting, a few simple words surrounded by jellyfish and bubbles. It was at once a poem about saying goodbye and the disappearance of the self. Like a suicide note written by someone who had already walked into the sea and vanished.
She left the painting there, ink drying, and left, never to be seen by her family again.
holy shit, that's awesome :O
story-ify it and get it published! :D
Poignant and horrific, and I mean both in a good way.
...Well, I wish my dreams made that much sense, that's for sure.
As PresentPerfect said, you could certainly make a solid short story out of this premise, but I'll leave that to your own discretion.
:)
Vivid dream.
I write up my dreams sometimes.
I am no stranger to weird dreams. Nothing will ever beat the time I went to Equestria, saw Rainbow Dash and decided to feed her dog food. That was the dream. I woke up confused. This is relatable to me!
Yeah, my dreams are never this detailed, or if they are, I never remember.
If I were to try to analyze this dream, I'd say that you have either had a major change foisted upon you that you are resisting, OR you desire a major change that you are too afraid to manifest.
Wow. Got a strong technicolor dream coat vibe mixed with.. hmm wanna say Isaac Asamoth but..
Damn. I wish I remembered the emotion in my dreams. I miss living in whole other worlds for a time.
Huh. As has already been remarked in the comments, you appear to dream pretty coherently. :)
I hope you've gotten enjoyment and/or something useful from it (though there's this blog post for this particular dream, if nothing else :)).
all my dreams are pretty detailed.
i can never remember specifics, but i always know how realistic my dream was.