My name is Rachel. I am pretty rad. My idea of a good time is a mashed up banana and some cinnamon in a bowl. But not the cinnamon from the Apple Jacks commercial, because he kind of freaks me out.
For the past month and a half, I have had dreams about Disney movies.
Not just any Disney movies, but the Disney movies that made up my childhood. And it’s not like I’m having dreams about watching the movies: rather, these dreams involve me being the characters, or being next to them, an incorporeal being who sees what they see and feels what they feel. More than an audience, less than a narrator.
I don’t dream the established plots. I dream new angles to them. New things happen. Ariel and Eric are unhappily married. Jafar has a daughter whom he loves despite his plots against Aladdin and Jasmine. Belle has a younger sister who runs into the Beast’s castle before she can stop her. Anastasia and Dimitry hide from the communists and escape to America. Then, a repeat: Eric is imprisoned by another Sea Witch and is tortured for his crimes against Ursula.
Somehow, my subconscious has latched onto this theme ferociously. It’s like I’m writing fan-fiction in my sleep.
I wonder what this means.
