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in dreams

Lately I've been dreaming of funerals. Last night of dreamed of death itself.

I was death.

In the dream, I was walking alongside a would-be suicide bomber. We kept pace for about five minutes, me floating silently next to him as if I were riding an invisible hoverboard, and him walking swiflty, his long robes swishing against the desert floor.

Finally, he asked me why I was following him. We had reached a marketplace that was bustling with people; women with covered heads and faces, turbanned men carrying swords in sheaths.

I answered him without looking at him. Any minute now, I said.

Any minute, what?

Any minute that you find the truth.

He lowered his head and quickened his pace until he was almost running. I effortlessly kept up with him. As the marketplace thinned out until we were once again in the quiet of the desert, the man stopped at what appeared to be an oasis. Out of the oasis rose a bus, filled to capacity with women and children. The man boarded the bus when it stopped.

I stayed back, watching him pay his fare. He turned and looked at me.

Well, he said. Are you not my death shadow? Shouldn't you be boarding the bus with me?

I am not your death shasow, I said. I belong to them. And there I pointed to all the swaddled infants stacked high on the seats of the bus, all of them crying. Among them was a young girl in a wedding gown.

I could see through the window that the man had opened up his robes to reveal explosives that had been tied to his chest with a frayed rope. I ran to the front of the bus and lay down in front of it, hoping that the driver would stop.

He didn't. I felt the tread of the tires as they rolled over my head, I could feel the imprints they left on my face. The rubber of the tire seemed to melt into my skin. Yet I felt no pain, just the sensations.

I was under the bus now, I could smell oil and exhaust. I could hear the babies crying, I could hear the young bride shouting herself hoarse.

Unable to face what came next, I woke myself up.

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Comments

this is an afternoon reading, i read it too early in the morning and now i'm depressed.

Wow, I sure don't want to trade dreams with you. But now I've got Monty Python's Meaning of Life's Death in my head.

whoa. That's about all I can squeak out.

A-ma-zing!!!

goes about reading this again

wow.... beautiful and haunting. Ian was write, very Gaiman. High praise indeed...

Z-.

A sad picture.

Gee, I only dream about making out with Jake Gyllenhaal.

I hope next time you can stop him.

That was a hauntingly beautiful description of your dream. Thank you for sharing.

I thought I had bad dreams, girlfriend. I hope you were able to shake it off an feel better today. I know that sometimes, for me, crap like that has a way of sticking to my brain and making me feel depressed all day.

Nicely written.

Whooooo. That sent a shiver up my spine.

Mind if I link back to this?

I think you are lucid dreaming..which is actually a rare ability it falls into the percentage of the population who can be truly be hypnotized (15%?) I have to admit I am impressed my lucid dreaming only pops up with nightmares...if it starts to get scary I get pulled out or the perspective changes. I know some people can actually acknowledge that it is a dream but for me it's like my conscious self says that's enough and overrides the unconscious. Dreaming of dying is common it is a fear that resides in our sub-conscious. But the fact that you have taken on the role of death is too solid to be anything other than a conscious symbol. The simplest answer is that death is an ending maybe ignoring the scary/sad/disturbing content of your dream the focus could be on the conscious need to end something most likely the fear/rage/helpless we have all felt these last couple of months. Of course this is all supposition not trying to analyze you but...dreams are kind of a hobby.

I'm not real big on postingcomments on other people's blogs, but the literary side of me just had to say something about the imagery in your dream.

I don't know if you've ever taken a crack at short story writing, but if you were ever so inclined, this vignette would be a good place to start.