Ah, a wonderful blast of rain began as work was wrapping up. I’m not as happy to see the warm weather dissipate so quickly, as the rain has pulled the temperature down considerably.
I came home and went directly to sleep after a brief spurt on videochat. I always tend to have odd dreams when I take these naps. It was one of those nice “hero” dreams. It was odd in the sense that I woke up naturally and the dream ended appropriately.
In hindsight, I’m wondering, how could Patrick Swayze walk through walls and not just fall through the floor, through the earth and just right out the other side of the planet. I think some movie (maybe even Ghost) pointed out the inconsistency there and addressed it with standard movie non-logic.
Now to figure out some vittles at this odd hour, maybe play some Zelda on the GameCube, which has to be, hands down, the most fun I’ve had sitting in front of a tv in a while. Well, since metroid prime maybe.
Will I ever grow up?
— The Dream —
Everyone is dead. Well, most everyone. I’m not sure of the selection process that got us to where we are, it is unknown to me and not important. I am a guardian and only aware that I am around to help.
I’m in a warehouse district at the edge of some city I cannot place. Everything is in turmoil. Sirens are going off, helicopters and searchlights are flying around the night sky, cutting through the air and lighting the undersides of menacing clouds. There are some flashes of lightning, but no thunder.
A report comes though the grapevine, urgent; “A live one is hurt.” Seconds later a car screeches to a halt on the wet pavement just outside a chainlink fence that stands between me and it. All the doors fly open and a person is carried from the backseat, wrapped in a sheet. There is some blood, I can make out. It is vibrant in the dull landscape.
From the passenger side, a man rushes through the fence and strides right up to me and grabs my shirt with his fists. He is dead, the physical rules of the world like fences don’t matter anymore. He shakes me, pleading with intense eyes, “You will help her.”
The remainder of the group manage to get her over the fence (I never mind the logic about how they can stand on the ground, yet walk through fences) and bring her to my feet.
I kneel down, protecting her from the chaos of the night and the scene zooms in to our conversation. She is a striking black woman. I never see her eyes, but I can tell they are caring from the way the years have formed around them. She says she was shot and I unravel part of the sheet from her forehead. A single bullet hole is glistening above her temple. Not much blood.
I tell her it will be ok. There are still live doctors and I will have one sent immediately. The most important thing now is to be comfortable. I am holding her face and rest her head on my knelt lap. I know she is beyond pain and in a lucid place. Her hands move through the air, attempting to describe what happened and I quiet her by catching one and holding it close to my chest. I tell her it will be alright, that there are two things that could happen. “We’ll fix you up, or you can just let go.”
Her eyes remain closed but her grip is strong, eyebrows arched, head moving slightly as if looking around. I say, “You are surrounded by people who care in every direction.”
This is how it happened. We continued some moments as her group of transporters creates a circle around us, as watchdogs, protecting her, waiting for the doctor. I tell her that if she wants to let go, she’s halfway there, it is her choice. The pain is almost distant. “Leave the pain. Just think of it as a bed of flowers you regard as you walk down a path. It is now behind you and there are more interesting things just ahead. If you continue, the flowers become more and more distant, and you will join us. This is the heaven on earth you’ve heard about. It may seem crazy, but there are good people here.”
Her hand loosens in my grasp and comes to rest on her chest. She smiles.
I wake up from the dream.