first death

Francisco Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son

During my fellow classmates' performance of David Hwang's play, The Sound of a Voice, I noticed how the whole atmosphere and tone of the play seemed almost dreamlike---as if the characters were disconnected from reality and acting in this sort of limbo. Dreams have always been attached to the topic of reality. Whether they have some sort of significant meaning in our lives or are merely fantasies---the value of dreams has been argued over many years. From Freud's theories to The Matrix---the discussion almost seems universal in everything we encounter. 

And as I struggled to think about what to write to fulfill the number of posts requirement, I rummaged through my old iPhone notes that ranged from March of 2012 to now. Notes that included poetry, lyrics, unfulfilled lists and plans, but particularly some of dream accounts. I have a lot of vivid dreams and when I wake up from them---I try to make it a habit to write them down. Here is one particular dream (which I pieced together from fragments of my remembrance and refined of course to correct the typos and incorrect grammar that I had in my half-awaken stupor). 

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I am riding a train for the second time with a small British child who faintly resembles George Harrison---as I talk to the conductor who is also British. We reach our station and talk and he says how his colleague and friend just died yesterday. 

I give my condolence. 

I bid farewell to him and the child and go to a toy store where my girlfriend works. My whole family is present there too and I walk over to my friends: Daniel---who has become increasingly over weight---and Will who is silent. Daniel is talking about something and is upset and I tell him that I notice his weight problem. He gets mad and his girlfriend consoles him telling him she likes it. 

We arrive in Italy to visit my great aunt and while we are there we are informed that foreign countries has decided to start a nuclear war and bomb us. Seeing that we are all doomed we all gather in a plaza awaiting our end and honor those who gave back to society. As I stand with all of my relatives and two friends, the bomb drops and I see this wave of gold and purple hit the ground. I feel no pain but I feel as if  I've entered some place different. I hear the cries and voices of my relatives and suddenly I see my dead body lying before me. I crouch down and lay on the stone tiled floor. And all of a sudden I wake up in my house. 

I check all the rooms and I find no one. The streets still have cars driving but I can't make out their drivers. I decide to fall asleep and I wake up to my mother and her brother. They begin to write their goodbye letters and wills and I begin to also. We enter a line and my mom and I decide to stop by a room. I break down to mother saying that I am uncertain on whether I will go to Heaven. I confess to my mom and she consoles me. I tell her that I argued with my dad in the car the other day when I was alive, saying, "Maybe I'll die young." As I cry to my mom I feel my consciousness return---with my eyes closed. 

I open my eyes to the new day.