(-=Nightmares=-)

I only write this story because it somewhat helps ease a little fear and pain inside me. I am not one who frequently has dreams that can be remembered, but rather lately in the last three years, have been faced with dreams that haunt me. I am writing these to all of you, who maybe able to analyze why these may be a nightly occurance.

The first dream with which is the better (as in not scarry) is one that I would like to be able to have analyzed to every possible depth and detail. I have this dream probably once a week if not more, it has become a topic in my mind for some time, and has even been titled "The Route"

"The Route"

I am close to the age of nine in this dream, I know this as I am not living the dream, but seeing the dream in third person. The dream takes place in our home neighboor hood that my parents still live in to this day, a real nice quiet street. We live near the end of the street which backs on to a small farmers field, and then another street, that has about six houses, a dead end, and backs onto another farmers field.

I remember myself looking out the front windows of our two story home, over looking a crumbled and disturbed road. The night sky has fallen, the streetlights provide an uneasiness as they flicker on the mutilated street below. My mother walks into the dining room and hands me a brown paper sack, in which she tells me, "It's time". I nodd my head, and begin down the stairs to the front door. I put on my shoes, my coat and hug my mom. (Possibly a good bye hug?, as I see myself squeezing my eyes shut harder and harder with every second passing by.) My mother opens the front door, and thats when it hit me, like a putrid septic smell on a hot summers day. We are...in the middle of a war.

I seem scared, clutching the warm brown paper bag that was given to me, and I head out onto the front lawn. I hear the air raid siren, sub machine gun fire, small bursts, the flash of gun fire ahead of me in the farmers corn fields, small explosions, and orders being yelled by men that I cannot see.

I begin to make my route down the street to the dead end. I come to the corner and look up to see the stop sign upside down and dangling by one loose bolt. I look to my right, and see my best friends house, lifeless, the roof blown off and a small fire in the upper ruins. I then look to the left, and to my surprise, the dead end was gone. A massive hanger leading underground erected before my eyes. Confused, my body seemed to want to go back home, but stopped, stopped as if this was not in the plan that I was supposed to complete. I scurry towards the opening of the massive camouflage tin, all the mean time worried about being shot, or blown up with a grenade. I decend further into the tin, screaming at the top of my lungs my fathers name. Moving around boxes, burning jeep's, and dead bodies I see myself struggle to move farther towards my father who has appeared before me.

Finally I get to my fathers post, sitting there face covered in dirt and blood, he gives me a warm smile, a smile that has brought so many memories flashing back to me. He places his arm around me and I hand him the paper bag, and he smiles once more. A loud screeching noise enters the tin cave that he calls home......


And that my friends is where the dream ends. Every single time. Now the odd part about this dream, is that it gains more details and odd little thoughts with each week passing, but always ends at that point. I wonder what is in the bag that is so important to get to my father? Why am I dreaming about a war, I just want this dream to end. Any thoughts, please do share with me!