I don't ever speak aloud in my dreams. Someone told me once I was talking in my sleep and it freaked me out so I've forgone speech in dreams whenever possible.
Some friends and I were brought to a building that looked from the outside to be a large apartment building. After being there for a while we all slowly came to realize that we were institutionalized. I passive-aggressively continued to act like I could leave whenever I wanted, I asked around about the exit as if I were just lost. I told whomever I asked that I just wanted to run across the street to MacDonald's and come back, (and a big nasty fuck you to the MacDonald's corporation for invading my dreams) which was actually true. My bed and all my stuff was in the apartment I shared with one of friends up stairs. Standard searching around dream that I always have, until I visit the fish lady. It's either an aquarium store or just a room dedicated to fish. I never even get beyond the door. it's marked exit but the exit it points to is a wall with nothing. the fish lady knows I want to leave but when I tell her I want to come back she raises her eyebrows. I ask (in my silent dream way) if she wants anything from MacDonald's, she nods agreeably and begins to lead me down a hallway that should most assuredly lead to an exit. Understand that my search dreams go on for hours without me ever finding anything that I'm looking for.
Lionel Ritchie comes down the other end of the hall and starts leading me on a tour. My hand goes up, fingers all merged together writing on my hand says:
never seen writing on my hand before, I'm suddenly aware that I've silently made my intentions known to everyone I've interacted with in this dream.
"EXCUSE ME MR. RITCHIE" I say aloud in my dream as I break off from the tour, Mr. Ritchie nods as I go by. I go though the first door I see in the hallway and am in a discarded section of the building. Broken boards and writing on the wall, some of the writing mentions something about looking for the spot. the boards fall as I try to examine them, they are black with white writing on them. they are black because Evil painted them to use in his artwork, the writing is in my hand. the rooms has nothing left to offer me and no spot. This whole time I'm fearlessly narrating my thoughts to myself aloud, making a point to actually speak, it's quite liberating. I exit the way I came and am back in the tour. I's kind of behind the music after that but I keep an eye out for any spots. Michael Jackson is in a darkroom explaining to the group something about picture development that is very profound but it's too dark to see any spots that might be present. I jump ahead of the tour, Ez-E was there.
I'll find the spot later.
Listening to: Bob Marley
Reading: Under the dome: Stephen king
Watching: Breaking bad/Voyager
Playing: Walking dead
Eating: Pot cookies
Drinking: Ice Tea