I usually don't remember my dreams on a Saturday night - I'm usually out cold all night thanks to a hefty dose of sleeping pills (well, hefty is a lie - more like one). But last night was something else.
I had a dream that scared the poopy out of me. Yes, I just said poopy.
While enjoying a beautiful, warm summer day in my backyard with my mom and dog, Elli, an explosion rocks area, and while I try to stabilize myself and prevent Elli from freaking out, another explosion blasts right between her and I. We are both blown back, but I come to momentarily. I get up and run to our flower garden, its reds, greens, yellows, and purples replaced with craters and dirt. Worst of all, my dog, Elli, is in horrid condition. The remainder of the dream focuses on me observing Elli, who is propped on her back, her stomach split wide open down the middle, her insides strewn across the ground. Among the pale orange organs, red and blue blood vessels, twisted intestines, and still-beating heart, Elli is desperately howling and trying to get to her non-existent feet, and all I can do it panic as I watch her organs slowly die and wilt in the summer sun. She eventually gives up her struggle and falls to silence.
With a dream like this, I should have woken right up, most likely terrified. Instead, the dream shifted to the Smoky Mountains, where my friend Brent and I spent Spring Break '06. While walking among the chilly March air of the snowy forest, the exact same explosions tear the area apart, and split Brent's body in half, sending organs, blood, and muscle all about the area. Brent's vitals are still ticking, though, and he cries for my help as I again witness his innards slowly fade from life and eventually give up before his eyes turn stone-cold glossy.
The dream then fades, and my alarms wake me up. Suffice to say, I'm scared to sleep tonight...
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