I think I've mentioned before that I rarely remember my dreams. Hence, I probably tend to overvalue meaning and significance on the rare event that I do remember one.
Well, last night was a night when I had a memorable dream, as much as I'd like to not remember it. It was a frustrating dream, dark and gloomy, but still holding onto a feeling of reality that couldn't be shaken. Those, to me, are the worse kinds.
Anyway, my dream starts with me waking up in my bed, and feeling not as a dream. The clock shows something around 2:30 in the morning. I sit up in bed to try to clear my head, and suddenly the hallway in front of my bedroom gets darker and darker.
I can't see what's going on in the hallway, but a feeling of doom and oppression comes over me ... a feeling of dread and fear, as well. I can't faintly hear what sounds like horse hoofs in the darkness of my hallway, and motions of darkness within the darkness. The darkness begins calling out myself and my wife, in a deep ominous tone, but then suddenly stops, and the darkness is gone. Everything is back to how it was.
I glance over at my clock and not a moment has passed. I look down at Rachel to see her peacefully sleeping, and begin to get back under the covers, when I hear the same sounds I heard in the darkness, but see no darkness. Instead, in front of my eyes, running down the hallway in front of my bedroom are millitant guerillas, each firing a semi-automatic weapon into my bedroom as they run past. About a dozen of them run past and fire, before I snap awake.
I hate dreams like this.
Who'd have thunk I'd long for the days of Byron Leftwich ready to beat me down?
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