I don’t remember dreams as vividly, and as oddly complete, as the one I had an hour ago:


It was dark inside the church, but it was daytime. The church was full of young grade-school boys, who seemed rowdy as I saw a few books being thrown high above their collective height. I assumed the event was an exercise of some bigger, official event, but whoever was leading in front of the altar seemed to have no control, and was just standing there. More books were thrown, and a chaotic thing happened that I don’t remember witnessing.


Up on the church tower, there was something that involved an uncontrollable mass happening below that made the atmosphere unbearably tense. I’m not sure how I got there. A few minutes later, a thirty-something couple joined me, the sort of tandem who didn’t look either good or bad in the soap operas. Not neutral, just characters willing to go with the better, winning side.


I was leaving the town with the couple, when a boy in his early teens, who was with a smaller girl sitting inert on their motorized tricycle, approached me, and showed me his notebook. The boy knew me, seemed to trust me. The notebook had drawings of men in boats with worried faces. The few other drawings shows the townspeople in danger. The boy didn’t speak, and the couple I was with seemed to tell me to either hurry up or disregard whatever the intention of the little runts were, and that this was an unnecessary pitstop. The boy left me with the notebook, gave me a disappointed look, and sped off.

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