I Had A Dream Last Night…

I’m thinking about it.  You see everything that takes place in the dream is exactly like what’s happening right now, even where you are; wherever that is.  This is the craziest dream I think I’ve ever had, because I just know how it will end, and the strange thing is, I’m scared.  It’s a nightmare!

It opens up with me in some big “Music Venue” with about a million thousand skinny tattooed kids, dressed in rags and bits of clothes.  What isn’t tattooed is pierced and buttoned to other parts.  Up on the stage, where explosions take place…real explosions, with real gunpowder and smoke…three or four guys, and what looks like a girl are screaming at each other and breaking things between the explosions while some nearly naked guy with hair..I think its hair and I think it’s a guy… sits chained inside a cage with about a hundred drums he is pounding on; drums and pipes and metal plates.  He pounds them in an increasing frenzy.

And, then he explodes!

The kids in the pit beneath the stage scream their delight as bits of the drummer and drops of his blood spray them.

I know I payed to be here, and I’m sick.  The screaming on the stage stops.  The concert is over.  In the audience people react differently.  Most fight with each other.  Some faint and are trampled.  Others…well others do other things.

I leave the “concert” through lines of police armed with automatic weapons and covered completely in black muscled uniforms.  They look like Batman, every one of them. They are the ushers for the concert.  They check my ID on the way out, wordlessly, mechanically; their glasses, or face plates so dark I can see nothing behind them.  I don’t know if they are even human..

It is daylight outside… around noon on a bright summer day.  I am on a broad square, like the one around the Boston City Hall.  It’s filled with people, all of them signing the National Anthem, as if this was a ball game or a championship fight.  But, it isn’t a sporting contest, and it is City Hall Square in Boston.  I have stumbled into a political rally.

The federal office building is clothed in bunting, red.white and blue.  Across the street from City Hall the FBI offices  are filled with more black clad forms at each window, the roof was thick with artillery pieces, and more black clad eyeless figures.  Gay, red white and blue bunting covers this building, too, and flags are next to each artillery piece.

In the square, the crowd accompanied by another band is finishing .  Every thing is quiet for a moment except for sirens in the distance, and explosions, always explosions.

Then a platform rises up from below in the space between City Hall and the Federal Building.  The explosions end, silence falls across the square.  Below the platform a drum beats, or a heart beats, its sound magnified across the square, and slowly, slowly, the drum/heart beat sound magnifies until you might think the walls would shatter, the buildings fall.  Some people faint, but most begin jumping in time with the beat, and continue as a figure in red mounts from below and is lifted onto the shoulders of two black clad sentinels who walk to the platform center and stand while silence falls.

There is silence.  There is immobility across the square.  After some minutes the figure screams in a woman’s voice, simply screams, screeches, maniacally.  On television screens, giant screens set around the square, set in public places all over the city, all over the nation, on giant screens sailing by suspended from eagles wings, from balloons and helicopters, the face screams down at us, out at us, out at everything, everyone, everywhere.

Then she stops!  Slowly, slowly, slowly silence falls again over the square.  A cloud crosses the sun, and some people moan, duck away from the brief shadow.  It clears and the figure is down standing in the middle of the platform in front of the immobile dark clad giants.

Fully five minutes pass in silence while she stands there in front of the draped buildings, in front of the dark men, before the silent crowd, her face a rictus of hate, her eyes in the giant screen burning hate.

She speaks.  No, she screams the words, and I am sure she does so without any amplification.  “You want me!  I want you!” The people cheer wildly, “We want you!” Over and over they cheer, screaming and jumping again to the heart beat which has returned louder, if possible, than before.  Some who have fallen to the ground are trampled, their please and screams simply adding to the crowd’s frenzied response.

An old man appears at her side, thin and wasted, leering in the giant screens; mockery plain on his face scorn, disdain and pride visible in every line of his drying dead skin, his empty eyes. He carries something in a filthy sack, something alive and bowing obsequiously before the woman.  He is bare from the waist.

She takes the package he hands her and raises it in her hands.  They stop, everything stops, the heart beat, though, drums on, as if it is coming from the package itself now kicking and squirming above her head.

“Take me!” she screeches!  “Take me and I will give you this!  I will give you all of this!  All of this and more, much more! You have my promise!”  One hand drops to her side, the package opens and something pale falls from it to her feet, squirming, kicking.  The old man naked from the waist, walks slowly over to the object, bends, picks it from the platform and hurls it high over the heads of the crowd to fall into it.  A roar goes up and hundreds where it fell fall on each other in a frenzy, fighting and screaming for possession.

I saw what was thrown and turn away to face one of the black clads.  Without a word, he roughly turns me back to face the platform.  She repeats “All of this and much, much more!”  With those words she turns and is lifted up again.  The guns atop the FBI building roar to life.  They are aimed at Boston’s City Hall which disappears in flame and smoke.  Hundreds of spectators disappear, too.  The rest continue their screaming.

It is a dream I tell myself in my dream.  But, I have been awake now since before dawn and still see and hear it.

 

 

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About Peadar Ban

There isn't much to say. I am here. I am here. I am here.
This entry was posted in A Story, Dark, Hell, Truth and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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