Avant garde, no?

For the last two nights, I've dreamt about people I love dying.

Two nights ago, it was my dad, but it wasn't my dad - he was my dad in the dream, but the man in my dream wasn't my dad in real life.

It was all frighteningly realistic... I came into the dream after the actual death, and the dream mostly concerned the grieving process... the emotion, and then the emptiness that comes after pouring out too much - the sharp, acrid feeling of pain.

I woke up in a cold sweat and it took about 20 minutes before I could think about anything else.

Last night it was my infant son. I don't have a son, infant or otherwise. This dream was not so much frighteningly realistic as just fucking frightening.

The World was looking like a fairly strange place - the edges of my field of vision would occasionally start to fall away to reveal whatever was behind the universe. There was some sort of antagonistical action occuring around me - an explosion, black, light - back.

Suddenly, there is this little kid.

Like a baby - looks a bit like me as a baby. I think the baby was wise-cracking a bit. We go outside, the war is over. Celebrations are in order, so I tell the baby to change into a suit. I look over at him and he is just a skeleton. He didn't realise I only meant to change his clothes, not to remove his skin.

I wake up in a cold sweat. I handled this one a bit better, though the image of the skeleton came back to me when I was eating breakfest.

Dreaming about death sucks.

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