Dreams can provide insight into our deepest thoughts. Using dream interpretation to explore dream symbols and uncover a dream's meaning can lead to a better understanding of ourselves.
I had this dream a couple years ago and as soon as I woke up, I wrote it down. As a writer, I viewed it as potential material despite how disturbing I found it. Earlier, I typed it up, so what you will now read very much resembles a short story...
It was a dream of blood, of sickening fresh blood. I could smell the carnage and knew I wasn't innocent. As soon as I opened my eyes, it is bright and I stand in the middle of a field with a scythe in my hand. Soldiers charge, but I slice them down and make my way to an intersection of roads that lead nowhere with no end in sight. With my scythe, I move to slaughter the soldiers standing at each corner. Pedestrians begin walking the sidewalks, coming from and heading towards nowhere. None see me walk casually amongst them like any other pedestrian, strolling down one sidewalk and then another, making my rounds, and with swings of my scythe, they fall. I could not smell them though. Instead, the air was fresh with the smell of the trees encircling the field, the pavements, the upturned soil of the construction site, and a breeze carrying the sun and distant autumn.
As I stride towards the third soldier, a car does not wait for the light. Though I am unseen, I am struck. The metal slams into my hip and my shoulder collides with the hood as I roll towards the glass. My back strikes the windshield. Shards penetrate my cloak and stab me across the spine. The car keeps me rolling until the back of my legs strike the frame, followed by my shins, and then I fall to the street. I felt no pain as I fell for as it came, the pain ended. Standing, I stride towards the last soldier and raise my scythe, hacking him apart. Thus reactions finally occur. Overhead, the blue skies are clouded over and a veil of darkness falls over the lands, otherwise known as night.
I am visible now. My scythe is gone. Men in black and blue uniforms charge from a distance with no faces and bearing rifles in their arms. I am not afraid as I watch them draw closer. Instead I am only shocked, but I am shaken when they start to scream and orders are shouted.
Then I smell death. I turn around and see lumps of flesh everywhere, dead bodies littering the sidewalks, streets, and construction site, decayed. The blood has dried. Their rancid flesh is too much for even the vultures to stand. I want to puke. I need to puke.
I run to the field, which is so dark and far from empty as it once was. Even as I see the mounds hidden everywhere in the tall reeds, I trip over them, finding forms of slaughtered soldiers and even those I cannot recall killing here. "It's her men" is cried somewhere apart from me. Lights flash out of nowhere and I cannot see, but the guns are ready, held in place. "Kill this monster!"
The bodies of the dead soldiers cover me, touching me with blackened decaying flesh, blood that has turned to sludge, and exposed bones. I try to scream, break my way through, yet they cover me so completely that I see and do not want to see. "Kill her! Tear her apart!"
With fear racing through my veins, I tear away from the grasp of the slaughtered soldiers. Someone wields my scythe. Bullets fire and bombard me and the scythe swipes down and through like a guillotine. I feel every slice. The blade is hot, searing through me again and again. Still, I do not die. Bullet after bullet shoots through my head, back, and legs, anything they can. My insides feel mixed and though ripped out, remain contained within.
I trip over a body. As I fall, I feel the last swipe of my scythe, the last bullet to penetrate, and one last cry, or shout, or scream. Blood coats me as my skin does and should. Something is rotting and I can smell it. It lingers.
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