You know something my dear readers?
The dream came again.
Although the vestiges of it evaporated like the morning mist in the sun, I am sure that it was the same one that had been plaguing me for months. There was a certain familiarity to it, as if one could recognise his dreams. Pwah.
It’s always been that one. The one where I’m always running, like an neverending commerical. But with more serious consequences. First in a military installation and then I will end up in an airport.
Running from what, you ask? Don’t look that surprised, I’m not a mind reader. But your facial expressions give you away easily though.
I have no idea. On the surface, it looks like I’m running away from soldiers trying to capture me. But deep down inside, I have this nagging ache that tells me it’s something more menacing than M16-toting gunmen. Apparently your guess is as good as mine.
The first few dreams were the same. Me being a rogue squad member against the rest.
Trying to be a hero, you say. I don’t think so. If I am, I wouldn’t be in this sad state where I am now. Well to cut a long story short, the ending was always the same, me being surrounded by countless soldiers on the government’s payroll.
What was new in this dream, in today’s dream was that I’m no longer running. In this dream, I was sitting down at a celebratory dinner with my colleagues. It raises my hackles, that this dream reminds me of those dinners held by the ministers of the parliament. Somehow, I was spooked. What celebration, I have no idea.
Really, you must stop asking me why. I have no answer for it, just like you do. Do you still remember clearly as the morning sun what you have dreamt a week ago? I suppose not. So stop asking and start listening. And if you interrupt one more time, your rear shall have a rare meeting with the tip of my boot. Believe me, it will be much welcomed by your rear.
And I was saying before you so politely interrupted me once again, I was sitting alongside with his colleagues, in a celebratory dinner of sorts. The whole event was insignificant, except for the end. All good parts of dreaming seems to happen at the end.
I discovered seven corpses. Now doesn’t it struck you odd, that one would find corpses at a celebration. This may perhaps be the key as to why I keep suffering the recurrence of those dreams. I know that they are linked in some way, and the ending has to do with seven corpses, seven deaths. Or perhaps seven renewals.
Somehow, I vaguely have the idea what those seven corpses stand for.