Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Dream - He was screaming. The slobbering, maniacal sound an ice pick against my adrenaline-frozen brain. “I’ll fucking do it!” He cried.

“Don’t. Just put the gun down! Please,” my friend pleaded. “Look at her! She’s already seeing the light.”

I had closed my eyes. Before, terrified and scatterbrained when I had first seen Him burst in with tear-stung eyes and that silver gun, Where the hell did he get that? I had thought. Now, seeing down the barrel of the inevitable, I let go and closed my eyes and felt light, lifted. For a second, I thought I really could see the “light.” Where usually you close your eyes and there is only black, it was very bright—almost yellow. I suppose I was “ready,” whatever that means. Then I felt the presence of death shift from me. I opened my eyes and saw Him redirect the gun toward His own head.
“No,” He sputtered. “I won’t kill her.” The shot ripped me awake.

"Gloomy Sunday" - Billie Holiday

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