Dream of Murder

Dreams of dying,one to remember.

 

I was dreaming again, and another terrible death was witnessed, but as always I did not perish. I am sure these dreams are taunting to death since his grip is about my neck every time and I always manage to live. This one was special, for I was sure I would see heaven then, I could feel it in my mind and yet I did not go to the heavenly place, but remained in my pain. I’ve been tried to be killed in past dreams, knives and needles cut long large deadly gashes in my body, but I remain standing. I’ve been shot twenty or more times and all I do is pop the bullets from my flesh like some awful infection, and walk away.

But this time it was a true chance at a murder. My killer was made of purely a burning hate for me, this black darkened man. I knew him though he did not speak, I could not ever see his gun as it sat on the bridge of my nose, it was not a cold metal as I hoped for, but was warmed by a shot before.

I was in my room, though unfamiliar to me now I know it was a true home to me. Every other soul was sleep in the house but me, I was busily attending something, I opened my door, the steps to my immediate right, I walked quickly across the small hall to a room across from mine and turned to see the dark man hurry up the stairs without hesitation, setting the gun between my eyes. For a second I thought I was quicker than this rage driven man, I could easily get away. The gun went off, the bullet dug so quickly through my head; I saw the explosion come from the back of my skull, pieces of my brain and chunks of my hair hit the ground with a sickening wetness as a great indescribable numbness went through the front of my face and I began to fall. The only clear thought was that I needed to finish what I was doing. I cannot recall hitting the ground, that terrible comforting numbness wrapped itself tightly about me; I was so sure I was going home to heaven and I was glad for it.  

I woke hours later, such a painful numbness was stuck to my face I wasn’t sure what happened. A large blood trail led to into my room where I lay on my bed; with writing on the wall that was unmistakably my own. My uncle walked in with my father and instantly started talking about the writing on the wall. When I tried to speak it was unclear, only making that hideous numb feeling spread over my lips. They saw the blood trail and stepped over it, never their eyes did fall upon my body; they didn’t seem to notice I was missing all sorts of chunks from my head and face. It had been like this in other dreams, no one noticed I should have been dead nor amazed by the fact either, they just ignored me. I can remember it was very difficult to see anything after I was shot. I can still feel my body in all its pain, I dream for the feeling of going to heaven once that bullet had hit me, only to be pulled back down and forced to live again in such an unbearable state!    

Author's Note

Think what you like.