For a while, I used the nicotine patch to quit smoking. A side-effect was crazy vivid dreams. I started writing them all down, 1,2,3 pages long. Filled half a notebook. Made a list of all the dreams, then started making photographs based on them...
Wow, same here. I'll be making videos years from now based on my own. Most involve being involved in a war, sometimes fictional wars, and almost all involve firearms...yeah.
So why not write about one now? Here goes.
Out of nowhere I'm simply watching a squad of, what I can only describe as, Vietnam Era American soldiers walking through a field of some sort of stalk, not corn and not bamboo. They come to a clearing where there is a very very old greenhouse, all of the windows are gone and it is enveloped by over growth. Several soldiers carrying AK47's storm the Americans, and I rush to the greenhouse where there are three soldiers hiding. Two are firing under cover behind two separate barrels or boxes, but are dispatched either by me or my squad. Behind another box or barrel is a man propped up and frightened. Although he looks exactly like the soldiers, though unarmed. Perhaps that's why I or the squad didn't kill him.
Suddenly, I don't know how, I'm seeing the world from his point of view. A soldier standing over me says something almost humorous that lightens the mood, before telling me a certain man is looking for me. I walk to the center of the clearing where the man in charge is speaking with a subordinate. The man that was standing above me says "here he is".
The Commanding Officer never makes eye contact with me. He's resting his weapon on his shoulder with one hand and holding a clip board or large folded paper with the other and utters something about their mission.
We're led down a path through the stalks again until we come across a house on the side of the path. Very old, wood, not even one bedroom, probably only used as a halfway between the greenhouses and the owner's home.
We clear the house and I walk into the largest area. The house is empty and without utilities and rotting. As minimalist and utilitarian as it gets. For some reason, don't even ask, I walk over to a small niche in which is set a sink with a counter top, less than a meter wide in all. Upon the counter is a melon, it's a solid dark green. I grab hold of the melon and suddenly the house is stormed with enemy soldiers as I realize I'm the last one in the house. I rush across the doorway, staying within the same room, to hide on the other side as I see some soldiers enter through a door with a glass window on the upper half. They take up defensive positions by the front windows before one enters the room I am in.
The soldier inspects the place, but does not turn my direction, and leaves.
Adrenaline peaking, I tell myself I have to at least TRY to escape, but to reach the back door I have to pass the doorway...that I passed once before for no apparent reason. I finally sneak over to the door and outside of the window on that door, I can see my squad.
The squad is pulling a red pickup truck, as small as a Nissan, from what I guess was a car overhang beside the house. One of the men, a black man of age, gestures for me to hurry quietly. I run to the truck and jump into the bed and rest my back against the cab and the melon next to me. They push the truck until it is far enough to start without alerting the combatants in the home.
Almost like a movie, it cuts to us riding in the pickup through the jungle of high grass. I'm facing back and keeping both eyes wide open for any enemy movement. I suddenly see something move and turn stand up in the truck and turn to the cab. The cab has no roof, it's apparently been modified to be more practical in some way. I ORDER the man in the passenger seat for a weapon. "Give me a weapon...I NEED a weapon!", but the man says I'll be fine, then I tell him I don't enter situations like this without my own weapon. I turn completely around, checking the jungle again. There are men riding on the hood, somehow, riding on the walls of the bed and two are sitting on the bumper.
Finally I turn back as the passenger hands me a Beretta M9. I ensure the pistol is ready and turn JUST as I see a man walking in the jungle alongside the truck, probably seven meters away. He is facing forward and walking at a leisurely pace, matching the truck's speed. I immediately take aim, but realize that he's not carrying an AK47, but an American AR. I hear a limb cracking on the other side of the truck and turn and point my pistol at yet another American. Confused, the older black man finally assures me that they are with us. I see ahead that there is a very small clearing, probably made by the farmer to enable him to turn the truck around, that the soldiers have converged and are waiting on us. The truck slowly accelerates to make it to the camp site.
At this site, I see somebody who is apparently familiar because I walk straight to him and immediately tell him either of why I was in the jungle or about some secret plan by the enemies or my own, before I hand him a tightly folded paper, much like a large state map.
For some reason, I knew all along that I had imperative information. As well, this is the first and only dream I've had in which there were cuts, like a movie.
I suppose it could be worse...at least I'm not Salvador Dalí
