A Dream I Had This Morning.

(Copied from a .txt file I made just after waking up).

I had a dream that thoroughly scared me a few moments ago. I was inside of an apartment complex building that represented a specific internet forum. It was not one that I post at frequently.

This all sort of started when one of the administrators of the forum approached me to tell me that a sale I had made on the forum had made the buyer unhappy. He was SERIOUSLY displeased with the quality of whatever I sold. What the product was exactly, escapes me at this point. This administrator told me that I was on probation, and that I may never be allowed to sell things again, as I had abused the priviledge. This was surprising to me.

I said his name, he said "fuck off." I asked if I could please speak with him for a moment and he replied "okay." The people in my room went apeshit, screamed at me that he had taken out a gun that he intended to use. I too, went apeshit.

I was so shocked that my own mind; my own dream would withhold this information from me. To learn that he was in the next room was a shock. To learn that he was also fondling a gigantic pistol was also a shock. How could I not be omniscient in a world that was entirely in my mind? I just wanted to get him to understand my point of view, afterall. I frantically cried for him not to kill me, and for him to stay where he was if that was what he wanted to do. I cried that the last thing I wanted was for him to take a life, my life, anyone's life. I ran out into the hallway and there he was. I could barely look at him. Really, the only thing I saw was the flash of the gun out of the corner of my eye. I tried to run down the long, thin, corridor, but it was far too long, and left no room for dodging. I turned to meet my unmaker at the last moment, so that he could see my soul being released as it left my shell. As the gigantic bullet left his gun, time slowed to a crawl, in a way. The moment between the time the bullet left his gun, and just before it pierced my skull did not seem to exist, but as I died I was stuck in the moment just before it actually killed me. I could feel each of my last few heart beats like they were their own individual infinities. I thought so many thoughts. I felt all of the pain and all of the numbness of the shock of knowing one's own death completely. I quieted my soul, and then felt nothing at all as my body, shattered dome and all, had no choice but to crumple to the ground.

I don't know which was more jolting: the shock of learning the terrible truth of my fate in the room adjacent to me, or the shock of the death I experienced just afterward. Maybe it was neither; maybe the worst part was having someone completely misunderstand you and call you the biggest asshole on the entire planet, and totally mean every word of the statement. Crushing. That statement, would haunt my eternal soul forever. That statement would never let me rest. How would I ever know if it was true of me, now that I was dead? How could I have agitated someone to the point of murdering me without even knowing it was going on? These are the questions I imagine the ghosts of the world have to contend with. If you know someone who does not understand your motive for doing something, tell them in a way that they will be able to understand. At least tell me, if it is me. Because I'd sure hate to have to haunt this earth for all of time.