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  Wrong War Wrong Place Wrong Time  Dreamt: Dec 7th, 2005
I left the house and walked off into the night. Walking down the sidewalk I turned around and peered back at the house.

A pair of eyes stared back at me from my 2nd story bedroom window. An gaunt alien child with slits for eyes and a crooked smile glared from my window.

Were I a cartoon character fire like what comes from matches would have ignited in my eyes. I proceeded to levitate myself to the second floor. Then I smashed my fist through the window and grabbed the alien by the neck. The alien had chosen a bad time to come. As I twisted it I repeated three times “Wrong war, wrong place, wrong time Mother Fucka.” The alien appeared to be made of cartridge so when I twisted its stringy neck it just twisted. I was no less pissed off. On short notice I could not think of a way to harm a creature, which did not have bones and appeared to be made of indestructible play dough. The alien was going to pay.

… Before this.

I entered the house. Saw my brother Thomas. Thomas is 6’foot something with red hair. Looking into his eyes I knew he knew. I also wanted to say something. I felt nothing I said to Tommy would bring him back. My mom was at the dining room counter cutting coupons. She said something completely mundane. This angered me, yet I had my own anger to deal with. I said something cussy and slammed the door of the house upon leaving.

… Before this.

I entered the restaurant. I was looking for my father. Perhaps he had come back here. I saw the dining clerk cashier person. I felt I should offer $39.95 for her to go and find my father. While I felt that would motivate a search, also, I felt that would make me seem really weird sometimes later.

I checked booth to booth. I kept cycling the logic, “If it’s a dream, its not true. If dreams were true then why wouldn’t [God] pick a dream where I have found a lot of gold bars.” But, a counter point kept insisting, “Dreams mean something, predict something, when I wake up he could be as dead as here.”

… At the beginning …

I was a member of the Indianapolis Colts. I had the uniform on. The crowd was in the stands. The opposing players were on the field. The referees had whistles; we were all lined up to play. I in the position of Right Tackle (This is one of the blockers who guard the quarterback.) The play began. I stood in one place. There were people rushing the quarterback to the right and left of me, but my teammates had blocked them. I waited and waited for someone to come to the spot I was. After 2 seconds I just lunged forward to block the first person I saw. The quarterback had handed the ball to the running back and it was a running play. I lunged forward and blocked the first person I saw right in the back. Now blocking someone in the back is illegal, but I did it anyways because he was in the way. The play was over. We lined up for the next play.
Beginning of the next play I tried to change positions. I looked around and sort of settled in the fullback position. The quarterback would hand the ball to the running player and I again would simply block the people directly in front of him.

That was the idea, but instead our quarterback threw a backward pass to the wide receiver on the right side of the field. The wide receiver ran around and then threw the ball backwards to another teammate. All I remember next was the ball being launched downfield and another teammate catching it. I ran downfield hoping they’d toss the ball to me. Time had run out in the half but since the play was live it would be allowed to continue until it was over. The player who had caught the ball was going to be tackled so he threw a halfhearted pass backwards toward me.

The ball bounced twice and many of the opposing team were about to recover it and try to make a touchdown of their own. I snatched the ball as quickly as I could and hurled it toward the sidelines. The ball bounced about 2-feet out of bounds and the referee blew the whistle ending the half.

The score was 20-0 Colts. I wondered why we were trying so hard to make a touchdown while leading with such a score. But then again, I figured that’s what makes good teams great.

The team all sat down on the bleachers. There was a section of bleachers which was assigned to the team playing. No one said it but the news was we were to receive new playing jerseys for the second half. These uniforms would have more triangles and stripes and be a bit flashier. I wondered when we’d get them.

The coach wasn’t talking. The coach was an inanimate dummy: literally. I decided we had to have a halftime speech so I stood under the coach and moved its arms and began speaking.

“That was the worst half I’ve ever seen. You two…” I belted like I had big lungs. I pointed at two random players. “{You two} are off the team, your performance was a travesty. I’ve never seen worse, pack your bags, and get your stuff.” The two players sadly began to gather their things. I continued, “Well, if you think you can do better in the second half you can stay.” Speech over I left.

Walking a crossed the bleachers I saw fans and raised my hands into the air. I was out of uniform so I didn’t think anyone would recognize I was a player. But, an entire section of the crowd raised their hands into the air as well. Being cheered for was an awesome feeling.

I went to a restaurant and began to look for our uniforms. I wondered where they could be.

I returned to the stadium for the second half. The work crews had boarded up most of the second floor of the stadium where I was. The crowd had all left waiting for them to finish.

The boards incompletely were nailed and a thin layer of boarding was all that held up at certain points. It was somewhat dangerous.

My father was walking about the edge of the rafters. I shouted at him, “please step away from the edge, be careful.”

I saw it happen before my eyes. The wooden boards began to break and he began falling 300 feet toward the ground. I did not shout or do anything hysterical. I knew there was nothing I could do. I only whispered, “no Daddy”

He hit the ground back first. His head snapped back and he lay on the field silently. A small part of me wanted to go look and see if he was to get up. You want to hit yourself for thinking stupidly. When I looked over the rafters I noticed that he was not the only person whom had fell. There was debris and the remains of a black and Chinese man also resting on the field.

I was saddened and angry. I was going to have to play in the second half. Feeling intense grief I said to myself, “I know how Brett Farve feels.” Farve was a quarterback who lost his father close to playing a football game. As I walked along the stand I knew I was the only person who would feel the loss. I felt alone.

The human body reserves certain very deep chemical feelings for powerful emotional situations. On a day-to-day basis we are unable to feel large grief deep in our nervous system for a situation. In a dream it is different. Being close to your center when you see someone die in a dream you feel it. You know it’s happened its true partially because you’re completely filled with a new emotional feeling you’ve never felt before: true loss.

As the boards broke I felt there was nothing I could do. It was a chain of events, which would play out no matter what I did. In my dream, no matter where I searched I never saw my father again. What really bothered me was when I arrived home and nothing had changed. My mother was at the kitchen counter clipping coupons and saying the dumbest stuff. An alien was playing a game by hiding in my bedroom. Aliens are in my dreams often, this would be normal stuff except as I told the alien, it was the wrong time.

Afterward: I Remember actually surveying the field. When I got to the grass all that remained was a bloodstain. Someone had moved the bodies as if it was a common occurrence. I did not consider become angry at the stadium. The death seemed like a natural risk of life.

2nd conclusion; its possible with any dream like this that I was the one who was actually dead. If you’ve seen the movie the 6th sense you’d kinda know. Maybe I was never a football player at all. Maybe I never actually touched a ball or another player. Maybe when I was shouting at my father he never heard me to begin with. But when you float through a dream or life without speaking or being spoken to it creates the offhanded possibility no one can hear you anyways.



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