Tag: fog

I Wasn’t Anywhere Near This, Not Even Watching From A Screen

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I dream about a young man, a butler maybe, who has just murdered the old lord he works for. He leaves the manor with no rush, it’s a Saturday and he knows the gardener won’t be back to discover the body until Monday. He goes home and carefully plans his escape along with his girlfriend. On Monday morning, they drive away in the fog. A young detective arrives too late and find their house empty. He wears thick glasses and his face is calm, emotionless.

Years pass. The murdered and his girl are now married, they’re currently on a tour bus. Around them, people are singing church songs and clapping to the music. A car flanks the bus, it’s the detective, now with a balding head and a mustache. Police swarm the bus, they arrest the murderer, drag him away. As the other passengers protest, the detective looks up at them from the car window, and very calmly states,

Don’t worry about it. He shot a man in the head.

Nobody seems to notice the wife, nobody arrests her. She goes on to live her life and raise her kids, scot-free.

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Four Snippets

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

There’s been a murder inside a big, white cathedral, two people, quite gruesome by the look of it. I’m with a couple of friends, one of them is my old classmate L. We are not allowed to go inside, but we leave a sad note with a fountain pen and our best wavy handwriting.

It’s a foggy, dark day. I meet both my grandmothers: they are sitting together on a bench outside a house. Grandma G. gives me a ring, it’s silver and heavy, I snatch it out of her hand right away with no shame. I tell them both to be careful and stay safe from the Coronavirus outbreak.

I’m at home, but home is a small RV. I’m waiting for my penpal C. to visit as she promised, because I want to propose to her. She arrives at night, wearing a white spring dress and pushing a shopping cart. She slips in my tiny bed.

It’s Easter, I’m celebrating with my siblings but I’m also missing work. I feel a bit guilty about it, and just then my boss shows up and looks at me and I can tell she’s silently judging me. I have my period and bad cramps, but I tell her I’m gonna wash my face, put my jeans on and go to work.

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