The Dream...or Memory?

I had a dream last night. It was so vivid, so real. It has me afraid to fall asleep tonight. I don’t want to revisit it. I don’t want to think about it. But it haunts me. I’m going to tell you, okay. I’m going to write it down and hope it goes away.

I was in a field. It looked like the ones back home. Pine trees towered above me, blocking the sky. Through patches, I could see the blue, but clouds were starting to cover. I could feel the chill against my skin. A storm was coming. I could smell it, the fresh smell of water that hovered in the air, threatening to drop the temperature. I had been walking a long time. I had been daydreaming. I was miles from home. I had to get back.

I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing, I was standing, soaked. The rain trickled down on me, kissing my face, dripping from my chin. The woods surrounded me. I normally felt safe in them, not today. They confined me. I was overcome by bark and pine. It threatened to tell. It threatened to fall away and reveal me. But not just me. My hands shook as I looked at the body lying before me. Dead. I have seen dead bodies before. My dad never knew that. He thought I was a kid. He thought I was sheltered from such things in the world. But I wasn’t. My first time seeing a body, I snuck up to the doctor’s office with a friend, but I still can’t picture who. We peered inside. The man was naked on the operating table, chest spread open for the autopsy. I remember the eyes, vacant, clouded. These eyes were not the same. Vacant, yes, but still held the fear.

The rain had dampened the boy’s hair, glistened his button nose. I counted myself lucky. The rain had cleaned what must have been a mess. The scratches and tears in his skin were washed clean, leaving behind raw wounds. I looked down at my trembling hands. I trembled from the cold…it had to be from the cold. I had done nothing wrong. I had just found him. But there was something in my stomach. I could still feel it. The summersaults, the twists. I knew something about this scene. Somehow. I searched all day, but couldn’t remember the gap in my dream. I didn’t do that to him. It looked like teeth marks, but they weren’t mine. It couldn’t be mine. But maybe. The boy was my age. So young.

Why did I dream this? Maybe because I know I’ll have to kill on the battlefield. But it felt so real…like it was real. Like it was a memory. But I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t remember killing anyone. But his eyes stay in my vision. Their terror, their stare. I don’t think I can forget them. What did it all mean?