Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

Last night I dreamt the middle of a story but not the beginning or end. Later I got a couple of possible directions it could go, but they felt more like "just after you've finished the book" musings on what happens nextthan "part of the story/dream". Oddly enough, I dreamt the middle bit as though I were writing it down, not experiencing it.

"So my choice then, is to deal with you and become a slave or to deal with them and become a slave?"

"No, your choice is to deal with them, become a slave yourself, and have the rest of your species destroyed, or to deal with us and have your species be in indentured servitude for a generation."

"One generation?"

"Your race lives about long enough to profit us in one generation enough to repay us. If you lived longer, the arrangement would be more complicated; if you were shorter-lived we would want two generations."

"I'm going to want to read the fine print on that contract very carefully."

In at least one replay (I woke and immediately fell back asleep several times, usually looping this same dream when I did so) we discussed whether I could make agreements to which the rest of humanity could be morally bound, as individuals instead of as governments. And in one version there was a clause about a small number of humans being modified to become living weapons, who would then be too dangerous/too valuable to ever grant freedom to, who would be asked to sacrifice their own liberty for the sake of the rest of the species (i.e. even more constrained than the rest of their generation).

Then I woke up long enough to break out of that dream, and fell back asleep into one where I was making a very odd sandwich in somebody else's house, and she and her butler came in to talk to me while I was doing so, and I got a tiny cut right at the bow of my upper lip which would not stop bleeding. It wasn't bleeding very fast, a minute or two to make a big enough drop to be distracting, but I couldn't get it to stop, so sandwich-making (and later eating) was frequently interrupted to reach for a tissue. It was somebody else's house, but my own toaster-oven; there were very impressively darkly red chunks of tomato involved (mouth-watering just to look at); and at some point Vaseline got on the sandwich (I think I'd tried using it to stop my lip from bleeding) and for some reason this made somebody want to kiss me.

Hmm. I cannot tell what sex I was in the second dream.