The Dream

The Dream

You still shuddered and your pyjamas shirt was drenched with sweat. You were sitting up in bed, too stunned to move, thinking, shaking, heart still racing. Finally you got off the bed, grabbed a clean T- Shirt, and headed to the bathroom. Almost two in the morning. The dream was getting more real, more graphic, and closer and closer to home. Something that needed to be done. You filled the bathtub, threw the shirt on the floor along with the pants, and you climbed in.

You closed your eyes, revisiting the dream. You knew it would be close to being impossible to fall asleep again when you got back to bed. The dream was getting too close for comfort. It was no longer the dream. It's the voice of conscience. It's the scream of the dead, crying for justice, demanding you have to do something. You can no longer keep sweeping the event under the carpet, shutting out the memory from your brain.

You were impulsive. You were stupidly careless. You were lucky, however. Now your luck ran out. Your dream was telling you so, clearly and unmistakably. No more delay. You've got to act.

(cont.)