Fragments
The following are glimpses, shards, fragments of dreams not fully realized before the intrusion of the waking world.
Cinema
I will spare you all the grisly details this time, but I'm still plagued by dark dreams. Last night's feature was extraordinarily cinematic, and loosely based on this local murder. I caught one of a group of kidnappers in the act, and when he tried to get a gun out of his pocket I stabbed him in the throat with a plastic fast-food knife. I was holding his body on the floor of a doughnut shop and asked the big-haired woman behind the counter to call 911 before the rest of the gang showed up. Shortly after that my perspective shifted outside of my body, and the epilogue played out. The guy I stabbed appeared in front of a black screen, a few years older, saying how after all this time he still didn't know why I attacked him. The "screen" went black, and white text scrolled by explaining how I had been shot to death by Miami cops, who still were not sure of my connection to the kidnappers.
[May, 2002]
Two nights
The night before last I noticed four guys in exterminator uniforms carrying large shopping bags through my store. I casually followed them down the hallway to the bathroom, and noticed that their bags were filled with guns. I feigned interest in the guns, as if I was a collector or something, and they warmed up to me. They started telling me all the details, firing rates, calibers, all that jazz, and ended up with giving me a large, sleek black handgun of some kind to look over. We started walking through the store then, them with their bags full of guns and me with my gun at my side. I managed to make eye contact with Diana in a crowd, and she guessed something was up and called security. I detoured off and speak with the chief detective, who told me that they had noticed me on the cameras and had been following us, waiting for us to get away from the customers so they could make their move. When we left the detective's office the exterminators were approached by security, but one of the guys wheeled around, saw me and fired. I saw the flash of the gun, and as time slowed to a crawl I realized I was about to be shot in the face. And I was, and I died, and I woke up shortly after than.
Last night I was killed by an intruder in my home. He looked eerily like an Asian version of BOB from Twin Peaks, and was hiding in my home office. I knew someone was in there, and even saw his moonlit silhouette on the floor, but was compelled to enter anyway. He used a thin chrome-bladed knife on me; it wasn't pretty. At the end I remember wondering why the home alarm hadn't gone off, but my last thought before I died was the hope that HobGoblin would have enough sense to stay hidden until after the guy left the house. Once I was dead and beyond thought, the prowler spent a while going through my books, reading them, looking for something. I never found out what it was.
[June, 2002]
Liquidity
I dreamed of water, last night, or something like it. I was walking down a brightly lit tree-lined country road, I'm not certain where. When I looked overhead, though, the sun had been replaced by the moon. It was still daylight, but the golden light was now pale gray. Slowly the ground under me started to soften, gaining a silvery hue in the process. I glanced around, and the trees and sky were also transforming, melting into softly shimmering metallic surfaces. Soon I was swallowed into a liquid world.
While I was alone at first, drifting through a grey-white void, I eventually saw some other people in the distance. One I recognized, and I reached out to her. When I did, I saw that I had become liquid, myself. Luminous particles of my being drifted away from me toward this woman, and I feared that I was dissolving. I realized, though, that this was part of the fluid world, and that those particles would always remain intrinsically me. The world was made up of the swirling motes of others, and we could pass through them or merge with them as we desired.
[July, 2002]
