Dreams and Stories by Scott Wolven and Jeffrey Deaver's "The Weekender"

You have had quite a number of meaningful dreams lately, the kind of dreams that woke you up in the middle of the night or early in the morning and pondered their significance. Note that you used the term "significance", not "meaning". All dreams have meaning, but not all of them have significance, a much weightier connotation.

You used to dream of fisftfights, murders and mayhem, poverty, falling through space, wandering through town without a stitch of clothes on, getting lost in your search for old lovers' houses, and of course sad encounters with Laura. You rarely dream about sexual encounters. The meaning of your existence, not sex, is what weighs heavy on your mind. At last count, your sex dreams didn't total to even ten whereas you dreamed about lost loves all the time until about seven years ago when you finally wised up and matured. In a forum, there are several interesting female posters. Two stand out for their incessant harping about sex matters. One is married, but unsatisfied in bed. The other is ugly, short, widowed, and obviously sex-starved. Obviously, to these poor women, sex matters a great deal. And they suffer of unfulfillment loudly and publicly. How sad and how pathetic!

You also had daydreams about bad hands of poker and the assholes that troubled you. They were of prosaic subject matters and you learned nothing from them. No insights were revealed. No understanding were reached either about yourself or others. Just minor, petty, daily disturbances of the psyche which were sorted out as they went in and out of your mind.

Stories written by Wolven and Deaver were phantasmagorical dreams that left you speechless, thoughtful, stronger, and transformed. In the end, we are what we look for. The Self has to be aware of the Other in order to fully understand what it is. Of course, in the end it's silence that teaches us the most and gives us strength so we won't have on our faces the tracks of pains and hurts and disappointments.

So it was all over. Wrong decision when you could not overcome the pull of the milk of human kindness and basic humanity in you. You let the bastard live. And the bastard turned on you, as expected, resulting in your brother's death and your upcoming demise. You should have known it was a case of all or nothing. Killing and maiming are for grown-ups and professionals. Chicken-hearted folks and kids should stay away from murder and mayhem. This is not a video game. This is real life where every act has consequences, some are even totally unforeseen and unexpected.

You were a dreamer, not a schemer. You were always on the lookout for putting on acts of small redemption. You stood at the raw edge of humanity. And that edge was your downfall. What could you do now? You obviously wanted to live. That was why you didn't kill yourself.

You are now sitting by yourself in a bare room which boasts a rubber foam mattres with no sheet, a stainless toilet with no cover seat, and a sink with hot water! Only in America! They even asked you if you were hungry after you asked for a Coke. They took away your clothes, saying they needed them for "analysis". New clothes would be given later, when you are ready to talk, besides, you probably need to get some sleep, the last few days must have been tough, the woman softly said, even with a touch of concern. This can't be real. But what will be, will be. She was right. You need to close your eyes for a few hours. You have not slept for over 48 hours. You missed your brother. If only he had not got out of the car.

The room is not cold. They must have adjusted the thermostat. Then you dream.

(To be continued)