For as long as I can remember, I've been having recurring dreams about animals that wouldn't usually be held together, squashed into the same tank, at zoos or aquariums. I call these dreams Tankers, and last night's was as classic as they come. It started with me buying a new house with my wife and trying to figure out how to transport all the bookcases and shelves without a delivery van. There had been a cataclysmic event which had transformed large parts of the world, either burying them underwater, or reverting them to a state of nature. The dream actually helped inspire and fix an issue I've been pondering with regarding my novel.
We were driving down Greenstead Road in Essex, which had been transformed into a verdant avenue. The houses were gone and had been replaced by palm trees. The road was also gone and was covered instead by a lush, springy swathe of grass, as brilliant a green as might be seen in the Okavango Delta. We drove over the grass and I remarked on how much smoother it felt than driving on tarmac. I said that we shouldn't have made roads in the first place, because any dampness or softness in the soil was still preferable to the numerous potholes that never got repaired on manmade roads.
It was a beautiful drive, birds singing and chirping either side, tropical flowers blooming, the sun shining. Towards the end of the avenue, the lawn road split into two forks. Between the routes, a central area filled with ferns and shrubs was home to a colony of king penguins who lay on their bellies, soaking up the sun. It was an Edenic experience, and I was happy that a place which formerly filled me with dread had been so transformed. This was the road where Osgood Smiths, one of my first jobs, a dregrading confectionary warehouse, had been situated.
We parked the car at the end of the avenue and were informed by a woman at a ticket counter that it was known as as the Green Belt, and formed part of a zoological complex. I told her that I wished to see bison, and she directed us to another part of the zoo. We passed a large tank, home to several species, including a large variety of tropical fish. It was simulatenously a water-filled tank with aquatic animals, and also a place for terrestrial species. There were lots of small monkeys who played with the fish, reaching up to grab them as they swam overhead. How the monkeys breathed underwater, I had no idea, it was more like the fish were floating in air. A group of enormous komodo dragons crawled by close to the glass, dragging their heavy, muscular tails. They were more fearsome and a lot bigger than their real life counterparts, with protruding fangs like vipers. A zoo keeper called to his colleague that they had not been fed recently, for they appeared to be hunting the monkeys.
Further along, I saw cramped, bubble windows where two walruses slumbered on top of one another, awkwardly folded into the tiny area. More smaller windows with micro exhibits came next. There was another curled up walrus, this one a sickly shade of yellow. I spotted a marmot, or groundhog, with nothing more than a small pool to wash its face. Next to it was a European beaver, smaller than its American cousin and looking more like a muskrat. Similarly to the marmot, it only had a tiny area to live in, most of which was water with a few branches to climb onto. Between these smaller tanks and the large one, there was a small drawer that could be opened. Inside were two little robotic companions. They were made out of plastic and electronics, and responded to different forms of petting. The one I played with looked like a pink weasel. I tickled its belly and it squirmed around in my hand with programmed glee.
I noticed a commotion in the larger tank, so returned to take a closer look. The two walruses were gone and I saw that their bubble communicated to the larger tank by a gap at the top. Having uncurled themselves, the walruses were now much bigger, and floated around the tank with the other animals. Viewability was not good, as there were only a few portholes through which to look, but I caught side of their ragged, rear flippers pounding through the murky water. One of the fish from the tank had escaped, and hovered strangely in the air. It had a short trunk, and was known as a hog-nosed fish. I angled my head for a better look at the surface of the tank and saw the frilled head of an animatronic triceratops charging through the water. One of the walruses had grappled onto the side of it with its flippers and was slashing its tusks ino the dino's rubbery hide.
The dream turned a bit strange at that point, so I won't go into further details. We had to form a row, dressed in various historical outfits (I was a cultist), and complete an assignment for sweets and VR rewards.
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