"Do you remember the night I died?"
Of course not. How could I?
That question obsessed me. For ages. Well, not for ages, I must say, but quite a while.
I heard it in a dream. Oh yes, how silly of that, a dream! Do you pay even slight attention to them? Silly you!
Of course I don't. I never payed the slightest attention to my dreams. I remember dreaming of a funny little toy-train circling around and trying to digest his LEGO passenger. That was a weird one.
Last night I fell asleep on my couch. With my pet, Dorothy. Yes, I have a pet, who cares? So, I was sleeping, and all of a sudden I was cooking eggs while wearing a yellow skirt. After breakfast I went downstairs and started playing my bagpipe. Obviously, no one can sleep while a douche is blowing inside a bagpipe right next to you, so Dorothy awoke. Twas about time! Well, she stretched her legs, opened her tired eyes and said: "Do you remember the night I died?"
That dream is obsessing me. In fact, I should be at work now, looking at some bloody patterns on the walls, but work can wait.
I woke up about 10 minutes ago. I'm still under my blankets. No, I don't remember how I got to my bedroom. Probably, I woke up in the middle of the night to pee. If I had to guess, I'd say at 3:12. It's not random, I peed on my watch, it stopped.
I called sick at work, and so I lived like an average Sunday. I went to the kitchen, cooked some eggs. I always wear something yellow to cook eggs, so I can get dirt on it and don't have to worry. Went downstairs. Dorothy was already up. She was staring at me, high to bottom. God was I short.
Her hands were free. Heavy, she was holding a gun, but freed.
"I do remember. It's always night."
