prophetic fragments
November 30th, 2008 by Kris Skotheim
I am being chased on my bike by a group of hunters in a camouflaged pickup truck. I can go faster than them if I sprint as fast as I possibly can manage, but I don’t think I can keep the pace up for long. My legs burst into flame. I’m not sure if this is a really good thing or a really bad thing.
A shadowy, many-legged form is hovering in front of me. It says something I don’t understand.
I am in a war, but I don’t know over what or between who. There is a rifle in my hand, and I am wearing a dark wool uniform. I can’t see far through the fog, and in every direction there is mud and the sound of gunfire. I start to walk towards the sound of a large explosion. The icy mud beneath my boots becomes a field of the innumerable decomposing faces of dead soldiers, and with each step their skulls crack and squish beneath my boots. The ground is so thick with blood and cerebrospinal fluid that my boots get sucked underground, and I have to proceed in bare feet. I light a cigarette, and moments later I realize that the fingers holding the cigarette are no longer attached to my hand, but are on the ground a few feet away. One of the faces in the ground tells me my feet smell like brains. I apologize, then lie down to smoke another cigarette with my remaining fingers.
This dream was posted by Kris Skotheim on Sunday, November 30th, 2008 at 5:56 pm. You can leave a response, but pinging is currently not allowed.