Dream Diary: Chucky’s Anti-Feminist Agenda


Dayanara Yepez Ramirez, Reporter

I’ve never been a fan of scary movies. Though I am absolutely terrified that the monsters I see on television will for some reason spawn before me, another main reason exists for why I abhor them. This being because of my dreams.
For as long as I remember, I’ve had quite interesting dreams. These consist of murder, death, and basically any deranged idea my brain can put together. These dreams are pretty common for me and I thought it was the same for everyone else. This was until I started telling different people my dreams, only to be met with very shocked and somewhat concerned reactions.
From the moment that I realized having such dreams wasn’t actually that common, I made it a habit to retell them whenever I got the chance. Promptly, I invite you to grab some popcorn and listen.
First, let me give you a short introduction. Based on my memory, this was a dream that I had during my time in elementary school. It’s also one of the very first ones I remember.
This dream starts off in my grandma’s house, except it’s not actually my grandma’s house. I know that makes no sense, but let me break down my dream’s logic for you. Within the dream, if I had grabbed a GPS and typed in my grandma’s address, then I would be led right to where I already was. However, the inside was entirely different, almost like a bland warehouse. It was gray, empty, and looked like no one had stepped foot in there for the last 60 years.
I was inside with about 8 people. I’m not entirely certain how many since I didn’t take the time to turn around and count.
Now, whichever brain cell or atom was leading the cinematic masterpiece unveiling in my head was a little lazy. Instead of giving me the proper run through, time jumped, yet I somehow still knew what had happened. I think the most accurate way to describe it is it being common sense in this world. It’s exactly how we know how to breathe here, except in my dream universe it was, “there’s people monitoring us, they don’t want us to escape and when we try to escape they’ll try to kill us”.
So, what does one do when the people who capture you DON’T want you to escape? You obviously still try to escape. It’s survival 101.
Frightening as the situation was, me and the rest of my “dream crew” walked around like it was your typical Tuesday afternoon.
Once again, as my dreams love to do, we travel in time. In a span of three seconds, there were only four of us left, myself included. While searching for the exit, we had entered a vast amount of rooms, and in some magical manner, a person had managed to die in each room.
For some reason, the people in my dream refused to just live, though in imprisonment, and willingly continued to go into the rooms, so let that be some profound message on the theme of freedom and not just a dumb decision.
At this point in time, it’s me, along with two other girls and one guy. We let the guy enter first, this being because we want to challenge gender roles and not because he was our sacrifice.
Out of the shadows, Chucky steps out.
Yes. Chucky. The unbeatable 28 inch doll. Humanity is always frightened by the idea of titans or these giant monsters, but maybe we should start focusing more on those that don’t fit the roller coaster height requirements.
Naturally, one would assume that he’s going to kill the person right in front of him, right? NO. Chucky decides to not follow this logical decision. Chucky decides to put behind him the many years the feminists have fought for equality. Chucky decides to kill ME.
Chucky had the audacity to walk past the guy right in front of him and add me onto his victim list. He grabs an electrical wire and just… electrocutes me.
Dare I say this was one of the biggest losses the feminist movement has seen yet. He also kills me and just walks right back into his little corner, with the rest of my group remaining unbothered. In case you can’t tell, I was extremely offended.
However, I was not about to let this moment stop me. Chucky may have chosen his side, but I was still going to fight for my rights as a woman. So, what do I do when I’ve just been killed? I transport my consciousness and view the rest of the dream from the point of view of one of the remaining girls. It was the obvious decision.
The girls and the guy, having just watched my death, proceed to go into another room. Here they find a baby. They approach it, completely unalarmed.
Little did they know, something I know very well; babies are terrible. The baby, roughly about 7 months old, pulls a knife out of thin air and kills the remaining guy.
What’s even worse you may ask? The baby starts crying and saying that it was forced to kill the guy. The two girls seem to believe it and so they take the baby as their own.
Here, they find a chance to escape. This room, as opposed to the rest of the rooms, actually has a window. One of the girls rushes to lock the door while the other tries to open the window. The girl struggles, but is seconds away from pushing it open, when a man starts banging on the door. This man was the pinnacle representation of the color white, almost like a sheet of paper walking around.
Finally, the girl manages to get the window up. The three of them climb outside, and the man angrily screams for his people to kill them. The people outside remain unbothered, completely unaware of the many people who had just died in the building beside them.
The girls run and suddenly a car speeds past, running over one of the girls.
Only the baby and one girl remained, and then, I woke up.