Dream

I dreamed I was in a war zone in a large, sunny city. I was looking for somewhere for someone to rest, eat and drink, but stealthily, as if fearing discovery.

In a house with a long hall there was a kitchen. As i looked about me I realised someone else was in the house. He sat in a large chair, bored and restless. He had a big head, but his jaw was swollen and distended by steroids. He threw his arms overhead impatiently and they were monstrous - the bicep was healthy and thick but the triceps were atrophied and hollow. Somehow he seemed lonely, pretending to relax and watch an old television

He grunted and made to get up. I hit the floor in a panic, but he headed out toward the front of the house. Shortly heavy machine gun fire broke out.

It seems to me now that he was born and shaped by others' purposes, that he was younger than he seemed but grievously altered by interventions so that he could fight his parent's battles. Though he was a monster, he was innocent. He was the reality of which Duke Nukem is the fantasy, a hideously strong man-child who will do the dirty work of war.

Dreams are odd. The raw ingredients mean nothing, your brain is in ultimate fitting-it-all-together mode.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.7