Dreams and Nightmares
Jan 2, 2020 I've been up since before five. The world has been burning in flats below me for days on end. I woke up a from a dream. From a nightmare. I killed a woman. I killed her in a dream. I was on mushrooms, and I thought she'd been fatally injured. I didn't want to do it, it just happened, and I fled, or at least that's what I tell myself In the reality of the dream, I'd shared the mushrooms with her. We were on some sort of a rollercoaster, and she did something stupid, and she injured herself. I didn't want people to know what had happened. I didn't want to be held responsible for her death. I didn't want people to find out. I didn't want go to jail. So I beat her to death. Other people saw. They knew. Her frat-boy friends. They knew. It happened in my hometown of Kent, Ohio. Since the dream I've carried the guilt of her death for years. It was one of those hyperrealistic dreams. The kind where there are colors, and maybe even smells. So