Three Deaths
Sunday, August 16, 2037
Seconds left to live…
998,574,766…998,574,765…998,574,764
(from http://www.deathclock.com)
I awoke with the usually-flush orange streak of the sky lost but greeted instead with a heavy, heaving and breathing gloominess. Its unusually cold in the room, and my mouth is bitter with a strong aftertaste of a coffee served by Death.
The previous night breezed through fast, and I know I slept at 03:00 or 04:00. Its 08:14 now. I know I read a few parting lines from the book “The Prophet” then immediately diluted the pungence of its wise words with a chimney smoke of secular trade and industry thoughts. It was like inhaling from a field of sampaguitas to attaching your nose to a muffler — two different widgets albeit working for a one REAL world.
I remember trading consciousness away slowly — the sight of the bright-green LED of my laptop pierced through the ink-black darkness of the room — to that of peaceful sleep. Forcing myself up from my REM slumber, that’s when it all ended. Though an ominous feeling (my spider-sense is tingling!) crawls through me just when I recall it, here’s how it started:
There was a picture. An old one (Or a newspaper cut out for that matter) and it stayed on the “view” of the dream for a long time. It was upside down, with a group of people standing by next to an altar. The oddity on this picture, however, is that its upside downess was the right side up — there’s ANOTHER image superimposed on the picture — two faces of acquaintances I met only once in my life.
Just when the thought shook what little consciousness I’ve got, I suddenly found myself in a gathering (Perhaps a party?). But it was markedly different in that the topic of death pervaded its air. I was back to staring at the picture, and it felt REALLY dark, ugly, and utterly evil; when a lady unanticipatedly approached and told me that the two faces there died just the prior day (in dream years, mind you). In a sort of Back-to-the-Future flashback, I found myself IN THE CHURCH of the picture, with the two guys there, standing (not upside down, like the picture). I saw them smiling and posing for the camera, but I seem to be the only one “seeing” the dark aura enveloping them like they’ve been marked for disposal.
They apparently had been neutralized by bullets minutes later. Just the two of them.
Abruptly, I was semi-awokened by tumult within the dream. A suicide letter had been found! And everybody clamored to look for the body — and fast! The letter was still freshly made, and I soon had it on my hand. It mentioned of the uselessness of it all, and a final bid of adieu then signed by a friend of mine in my High school years (I’m sure his not deceased as of the moment).
All in the dream were looking for this boy to save him from death. Looking above, at the ledge of the building, I discerned a bag big enough to fit a human, and with a panic-stricken voice, I called out for assistance to bring it out. The bag felt like a human tenant was in it, and it still had a life, though knocking slowly at body’s consciousness. Again, the dark aura enveloped it.
That’s when it all ended. I was forced to be up with a shot of caffeine from Death’s distasteful coffee. And the picture — with the aura floating around its upside-down subjects — still haunts my consciousness to this second. And it never fails to bring out goosebumps.
According to Dreammoods.com, a death in your dream signifies something missing in your life. Or that whatever that someone represents has no room in your life. I’m still decoding what it all means. . .
