My dream life seems to be growing ever more vivid and I awoke this morning remember yet another persecution dream. In it, I was me but reality was all skewed and places and people were all mixed up, as dreams usually are. This turned out to be a recurring dream, or at least a continuation of a dream I had started in January. In it, an old man had been murdered. He was the husband of a fictitious neighbour and the murder had been some kind of mistake, a practical joke gone wrong. I was with the other two guys who had been respsonsible for his death and I was given the job of disposing of the body. And so I had dragged the corpse to some open ground, set it alight and buried the remains. I had done a good job of hiding the body and I had thought it was the perfect crime.
But that was in January, in my dream at least, or maybe I had dreamt that last night or dreamt some kind of flashback? I don’t know for sure. But the dream re-started with a knock on the door and a policeman entering the house, which was similar but different to my grandparent’s home. They were still alive and I was there with them. The policemen spoke about the disappearance of the man and then left.
I broke down and confessed to my grandparents as to what I had done and my level of involvement in the disappearance of the man. They looked on at me disapprovingly and said that they were digusted with me and that I was a disgrace. There was only one thing I could, they said, and that was to confess, to come clean to the cops. I spent the rest of the dream avoiding the interest of the police and then a letters came through the letterbox, a number of different letters, all with a different letter printed on them that spelt the word “CONFESS”. A free newspaper punctated the flood of envelopes and on the front page was an interview with the wife of the man who said how much she had missed him.
Then I realised what I needed to do. I picked up the phone and called the police. I said I would be there within the hour. I walked to the police station and sobbed all the way there, crying for the fact that I would lose my home, my wife and my liberty. Despite this sadness, I knew what I was doing was the right thing.
Then I woke up…and for the first time ever in the history of my dreaming I said quite loudly: “Thank god, it was just a dream” and I laughed. I spoke so loud that it woke the Missus and then I spent the next fifteen minutes describing the dream to her.
Today, at just after 2pm, I spoke to my sister on the phone. Her contact made me feel very special. She is a clever, sensitive and witty young lady. I like her a lot already. She is super-cool! My only regret was that we couldn’t talk longer. We only had 30 minutes, but that was enough for now, I guess. I don’t want to rush things although my heart says “Come on, stop beating around the bush, you big sissy!”. Sister, if you are reading this, you are great.

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