Wednesday, Jun. 15, 2005 - 06:15

In the dream I’m standing in the kitchen of my apartment. I believe I’m focused on feeding my 3 cats; their bowls are on the kitchen bench.

I turn round to call for my cats, half expecting to see them standing behind me, waiting expectantly. But instead I see that Simon is standing there, just near the ‘fridge. His expression seems somewhat grim, as if he’s troubled about something.

“Everything’s ok, Jay,” Simon stated in a calm voice.

“Si… what is it? What’s wrong?” I asked him. ’Si’ is the nickname I used to call him when we were friends.

“It’s yours,” he replied.

I notice that he’s holding a long, wicked looking surgical blade in his right hand, down at his side. Then suddenly his shirt, hands, arms and face are covered in blood.

“Oh God… you’re covered in it! Where’d did it come from?” I asked.

“Soon,” he answered softly. I was growing a bit confused and frustrated, as the responses he was giving to my questions made no sense.

“When did it happen…?” I inquired.

“It’s the Gift you get to keep this time,” he replied.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying… What is this?” I asked him. And then I had a flash of something within the dream; a dream within the dream, I suppose. There was an image of me lying on my bed. Simon was on top of me pushing a pillow into my face… I could see my body quiver and shake as my body struggled to suck in a breath.

“I remember!” I cried and back away from him.

“No, I am,” he said.

“I’m dreaming,” I said in a curious state of haziness. And then the walls, ceiling, floor and fixtures of the kitchen began to stretch - they moved upwards, outwards and downwards at a jarringly disjointed, broken pace, and I felt myself ‘falling’ as the floor dropped beneath me…. Soon I was in a kitchen that was impossibly large – the ceiling seemed lost in clouds or fog and the walls were hundreds of miles away.

Simon was gone. I ran towards the door. It took forever to reach it. But when I reached the doorway I found myself back in the kitchen again, only now it was back to its regular proportions. Somehow I was standing back at the kitchen bench, the cats’ bowls behind me, and I looked down and saw that the knife Simon had been holding was lodged in my belly and the front of my shirt was torn and soaked with blood.

Simon was right in front of me; he stepped back, also covered in my blood. “It’s ok, Jay… there’s not going to be any more Second Chances…”

… At which point, I woke up.

Weird dream… horrible dream. It was photo-realistic in image quality, yet kind of surreal, too. It wasn’t until after I had jotted it down (after waking up and calming myself down), that I realised something about the dream. Well, actually, it took a couple of re-reads of it before I picked up on what now seems bloody obvious: the conversation Simon and I had was all back-to-front; his seemingly nonsensical replies so make sense when you swap the order around… it’s like a dyslexic nightmare, or something… odd, very odd, even by my standards.

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