It’s not a nightmare but it’s really weird. I don’t have problems falling back asleep later because I know it’s a dream and I know it’s the past. I haven’t had it for a year or two, but I had it last week, after talking about it with Phil and I used to dream this dream constantly one or two years ago. I don’t know why I dream it. It’s the same scene over and over again.
Perhaps I was in Macerata, not far from my town. I was sitting around a table outside a bar with four friends. The man in front shielded me from the early afternoon light. We were celebrating. A married couple sat together on my left and the light from both their rings reflected onto my face. They were happy and elegantly dressed; she wore a black dress and a narrow brimmed hat with lace. Her husband wore a pin-striped suit. The woman on my right wasn’t saying much, but she was attentive. It was hot and I was wearing a sleeveless red dress. I picked up my drink and took a long sip.
Perhaps I was in Macerata, not far from my town. I was sitting around a table outside a bar with four friends. The man in front shielded me from the early afternoon light. We were celebrating. A married couple sat together on my left and the light from both their rings reflected onto my face. They were happy and elegantly dressed; she wore a black dress and a narrow brimmed hat with lace. Her husband wore a pin-striped suit. The woman on my right wasn’t saying much, but she was attentive. It was hot and I was wearing a sleeveless red dress. I picked up my drink and took a long sip.
The cigarette smoke distracted me from my conversation with the man in front for a few seconds and I watched as it floated up: like a cat might watch a butterfly.
As the smoke disappeared into sunlight, I heard a growing sound, unbearable and close. The sharp nose of an aeroplane appeared, its grey stomach flapped open and I froze as a bomb fell from it like deadweight. I saw the dust rising and the brick shattering and I heard the roaring and the screams.
By Alexandra Santarelli
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