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Dreamed 1998/8/11 by Chris Wayan

I meet two men on the San Francisco waterfront. One's human, one's alien--a quiet big-headed guy of reptilian ancestry.

We're a scuba team; we plan to dive to a famous wreck--a submarine sunk by a depth charge right below a pier close to the Bay Bridge. The narrow slip is surrounded by piers and promenades on three sides, but it's so deep and tangled in scrap metal, old beams, and general harbor trash that the wreck's never been reached before.

We reach it. And bring back proof. Big Head grabs a loose chunk of machinery. I don't clearly see it till we break the surface. Oh, shit--the wrong piece of evidence--one of the depth charges that sank the sub, or one of the torpedoes it carried? I hear a faint ticking--the pressure change has wakened it. It could blow any time now. Usually they had timers just a couple minutes long so they'd reach the right depth. I yell at him "DROP IT BACK IN!" He stares at me blankly a few terrifying moments, then tosses it. Splash! It swims back down in the green murk like a steel turtle. We climb out on the pier. Air dampens the shockwave of a bomb--water carries it a long way.

My buddies figure we're safe even if it blows, now. Take photos of each other with their lesser loot--still proof we found the sub. I'm still uneasy and say "Let's get further off in case it takes out a piling or two." They agree to leave after the next shot.

Then I spot a strange little ring-ripple on the water above the wreck sit. Point and yell "We have to leave NOW!" Subtle, certainly no explosion far below--more like a big bubble popped. But my long experience with waves says something else has been released. At last, my friends listen, and we run for the door in the corner. Too late! Another bubble, bigger, and...

A giant's head emerges from the water. No body, just a vaporous neck. The head of a god I recognize--and fear. I've me him before. A vengeful one!

Tourists panic on the pier. The god booms "No need to fear; I'm just looking for..." and peers around as we reach the door "... THEM!" and points at us, with an arm of steam, and reaches across to us. If we'd started to flee a few seconds earlier we'd have made it out.

But now we're caught. In the palm of the bad god's hand.

An angry god or genie stretches a cloudy arm to capture three scuba divers who disturbed his rest. Dream sketch by Wayan. Click to enlarge.


Only I don't think that's gonna work this time.


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