Monday, December 08, 2008

I had a dream. A nightmare. Early today morning. I usually never remember my dreams. But the dream that I had today morning is so clear in my head that I can replay it again and again, with every single detail intact.
We were in our house. Not our current house, but the layout was a cross between three-four houses we’ve stayed in over the years. My mother, brother and I were hiding, in my parents’ bedroom. My father, for some reason, wasn’t part of the dream. My mother looked as she does now, but my brother was younger. Shorter and smaller than me. I could not see myself. The dream was through my eyes.
We were quiet and spoke in hushed whispers, as we hid behind a door. We were scared. Terrorists were attacking people in the safety of their houses. We had double locked the main door, but we heard it being kicked open. The sound of running feet, objects being knocked around. My mother told us to stay in the room and ran along the corridor towards the kitchen. My brother and I could hear the terrorists now. I don’t think they’d discovered my mother yet. The terrorists sounded angry. Suddenly, my brother panicked. He ran out of the room. I screamed out his name, as loud as I could dare. But he just ran along the passage. And I, instinctively, ran behind him. I knew the terrorists were right there. I started crying as I ran towards them, because I knew that they’d caught my brother. Now they’d turned and seen me as well. And yet, I didn’t stop.
The next part of the dream I saw as a third person, a CCTV angle but clearer. One terrorist raised his gun, a machine gun, and fired at me. The round lasted maybe a few seconds, but everything seemed to move in slow motion. I felt every bullet sear my chest. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. But I knew I was dying, if I wasn’t already dead. And that hurt. I couldn’t believe that I died like this, so easily and so meaninglessly. And as I was dying, the thought that I always say that I’ll die early (because of my short life line), flitted through my head. But though I said it often enough, I never actually believed it. And now I was dying and I didn’t want to die. My tears mixed with blood as I dropped on the floor.
I woke up thinking that I was dead already. It took me a few seconds to reorient myself. I wasn’t dead. It was just a dream. But before I could rejoice, I drifted back into sleep.


Anonymous Non-Sensei said...

except for me , it was a knife and it wasn't terrorists.

December 24, 2008 at 6:06 AM  

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