My Neighbor I Know So Well (AmeCan)

These Dreams (Canada)

30 December, 1929

I've been getting endless calls from Alfred, every call expressing how sorry he was for being the cause for this whole crash. I told him that if he continues to call only to apologise, then to not bother picking up the phone because he's only wasting my time even more than he already had. Seriously, it's becoming a nuisance to me.

Nothing has lightened up yet, but I overheard a plan to work on the healthcare of the people. In matters of health, my own hasn't been doing good. I've come down with a fever and I'm too weak to move a muscle. I haven't had a caretaker in forever, or rather I stopped having a caretaker, because they thought I had outgrown having extra support and could sustain myself well. Recently, my dreams always result into me waking up in cold sweat. The past is coming back and I think it's my subconscious doing it. Who else would do such a cruel thing other than my subconscious? I have dreams about faces buried in soot or the sounds of bones breaking. The skies are either red or gray, it depends on where I am. I dreamt about my first war and how badly wounded my body became, yet, I still carried on. Then there was the war against the Germans and how horrified I was to see Papa's half-buried body scrunched up in the ash. No matter how much I tried closing my eyes, I could still see the blood of soldiers spurting from all directions, me being half of the cause. These events shifted my vision to the dozens of small children holding their dirty palms towards me for food or money, or anything that would help them survive. Finally, my most recent dream was the one where Alfred held his musket to my head. His eyes weren't the same as how I see them now. The cheery light blue was a dreadful dark, almost black, and an inferno could be seen in his irises. He didn't look like himself. He was a monster.

Should I keep pushing him away when all he's doing is trying to apologise for the mess he's made? Now that I have the time to give it a second thought, I'm acting stubborn. Immature even. I'm not my normal self, that's for sure. I need to change, right now. Who knows how I'll end up if I continue to be this way.

These dreams are hurting me. A lot. Heck, I'm hurting myself too.

Your friend, Matthew