Cult-ural disruption
This week, our dreams took us from unsettling cults to chaotic childhood memories.
Some of us, dressed in our finest, found ourselves chatting with suspiciously friendly strangers—only to realize they were cult members trying to draw our loved ones in.
Others were trapped in cramped elevators or nostalgic classrooms, unable to escape the creeping sense of unease, with malfunctioning buttons and lurking spiders adding to the tension.
Family themes had their own twists. One dreamer celebrated a child’s birthday in a house with no walls, while others navigated missed bus stops, flooded toilets, and warehouses full of abandoned luggage—turning the mundane into a mess.
We ended the week comforting old friends haunted by survivor’s guilt, caught in a narrative where nothing felt certain.
I had been carrying multiple bunches of flowers wrapped in celophane like they sell in the store. I noticed the cult had taken then and unwrapped them. I got angry and said they were for my mother, but the cult said I was being selfish.
