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His Shirt is Red Now

March 23, 2005

An old friend of mine contacted me with a powerful dream she had about me. It involves her seeing me being blown apart by armed robbers. I liked it so much I asked her permission to post it. She writes well, too. Here is is:

I decided yesterday (Thursday) that I was going to come and visit you at
work on Friday (this is real time, by the way). I had an urgent need to see
you, for reasons still unfathomable to me. Anyway, c’est la vie… So I
went to bed on Thursday night, and that’s when the real fun and games began.
I dreamed that I was walking through the Riverside Centre on the way to
the Health Shop, wearing the exact same outfit that I was planning to wear
on Friday – down to the earrings and the bracelet on the right wrist. I
approached the Health Shop and saw you through the windows (you were wearing
a white long-sleeved shirt and those weird cotton hippy trousers that you
like so much). I smiled and started to wave, but you came and locked the
glass door & turned your back on me. I started knocking on the door and
calling to you, telling you to be stop being so bloody stubborn and to open
the door, because I needed to talk to you. That’s when two masked gunmen
with rifles burst out from behind the shelves inside the shop, and
absolutely nailed you with bullets in the chest and stomach. I started
screaming and hammering on the door with my fists, but they just carried on
shooting for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually they disappeared
again back behind the shelves. You had your back to me throughout this, but
then you turned around with your hands clasped over your stomach, blood
pumping out between your fingers, and these massive wounds in your chest. I
went fucking apeshit – screaming and bashing and kicking at the door. You
stumbled towards the door and fell against it with your palms outstretched,
then slid down – leaving these bloody handprints all down the door from
above your head to the floor. At this point I ran outside to go look for
help, but the streets were deserted. I ran back inside – tripping over
those few steps that lead into the Riverside Centre – somehow noticing that
the escalator had also come to a standstill. When I got back to the Shop
and looked inside, you were lying on your back with your arms out to the
side in this Christlike pose, with your hair floating in an enormous pool of
blood. My last coherent thought before I woke was: “His shirt is red now”.
I can’t fully describe how vivid this dream was. Most dreams have an
etheral, non-physical, surreal quality to them. However, as I was pounding
on the door I could feel the pain in my hands. I could feel my throat hurt
from screaming. As I kicked the door I looked down and could see the scuff
marks on my Docs. The door was rattling as I was hammering on it, and I
could see the droplets from your bloody handprints flying off and spattering
on the floor. These are not normal details.

Fodder galore for the Freudian dream analysts…

So I woke up after “His shirt is red now”, and for a ghastly few minutes was
utterly convinced that the events had taken place, that this was the night
after, and I was suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress-induced
revisitation of the occasion. I put the light on, and thankfully reason
reasserted itself after a while & an enormous Jack Daniels. I was seriously
tempted to phone you, but figured that you might not be amused to receive a
phone call from a hysterical female at 3am, enquiring if you were still
alive. I stayed awake the rest of the night, watching an extremely dodgy
selection of movies on MNET’s late-night viewing. In the morning, being
slightly less hysterical, I decided to track you down without delay. I had
a minor panic attack heading towards the Health Shop through the Riverside
Centre ( the fact that I was wearing the same outfit as in my dream did NOT
help), then had a major panic attack when I did not see you in the shop. I
felt better when the woman behind the counter said you were not working
there today. That’s when I SMS’ed you, and that’s where you come into this
whole bizarre story.

Forgive me if I seem to be overreacting or a tad on the melodramatic side.
I can only say that it was the most petrifying and realistic nightmare I
have ever had. And you know me – I am not subject to hysteria and fainting
spells and the like. I would just really like to see you before you go – I
need to see you in living and breathing form, if only to banish the spectre
of your bullet-ridden corpse that keeps twisting & dancing behind my eyes
(and maybe get a good night’s sleep).

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. tenderprey permalink
    March 23, 2005 11:10 am

    Wow, this woman really does write well. She must be a genius.

  2. greenman permalink
    March 23, 2005 2:19 pm

    Quite a dream, even I’m terrified. Walton, you’ve got to start looking less Christ-like. Perhaps shaving all your hair will help (and then you can leave the Jesus role to me, though post-30 it’s perhaps time to hand it over before the grey hairs ruin it entirely).

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