A Race

It's a flattened jungle. Stripped logs are everywhere. I am racing over a dirt track. I seem to be elevated, as if I'm riding one of those hover bikes from a Star Wars story. It feels like dusk and the weather wet. I seem to have come across the place before NS training in Brunei or Taiwan.

I am now sitting on a bench sofa inside a room; it seems to be a resting place. I am wearing a race suit, white with red disc logos and other signs all over. My collar is unzipped. I seem exhausted and am holding a can drink in one hand and making small talk with a model beside me. A projector screen is showing action at a pit lane.

A red F1 car pulls up. It is picked up and crushed into strip of metal in a quick instant. The metal is dropped into our room, still smoking. It clatters on the floor. Another F1 car suffers the same treatment. Yet another strip of flattened smoking metal. A giant of a man is responsible. He growls with satisfaction at his handiwork.

The race picks up again. This time we race to an airbase. Gleaming rockets stand on the tarmac. We arrive, jump out of our cars and race towards our rocket ships. It feels like a triathlon. I strap myself in and barks orders to the control tower. I am informing them that I am ready for take off.

In a moment, other rocket ships start blasting off, one after another. They look like tiny but fat missiles being popped off the ground.

I am now flying over a forest of fallen trees. Naked timbers lay exposed over one another in a somewhat unnatural fashion. I realise now I am in the same rocket ship as I was in the earlier part of the dream. Where am I heading? Back to that pit action? I wonder. Before I get an answer, I wake.

MY TAKE ON THIS:
Cause and Effect: