partial dream
2008-02-21 - 11:18 a.m.

before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

[ed note:  partial dream]






Forrest Whittaker made the man lay down on the train tracks.

The man lay down, splayed on his back, with his head resting backwards and lolling down the railroad tie.

Forrest shot the man in the forehead from a few feet away, and looked at me.

"You gave him mercy,"  I said.

Forrest smiled and laughed.  Then started walking.

I walked with him.  Sirens wailed into the air in the distance.

Forrest ran as though shot out of a cannon, ducking through yards, hiding behind trees.  Hiding behind anything that would afford him some cover.

I kept up behind him, but just barely.

Then Forrest Whittaker turned into a bear, and jumped over a barbed-wire fence.  He got tangled and raged at the fence, flailing madly.

As I ran up to jump the fence, he disentangled from it (and a white pine tree).  I bounded up and over the fence with ease.

We hid around a nearby cottage.  A collection of guest houses that were separate from the original compound.

Eventually an adult authority figure came out and asked us why he wanted to talk to us.

Suddenly I was a 12 year old child.

"'Cause we're not where we're supposed to be..." I drawled in a child's tongue.

Forrest the bear and I shuffled off to where we were 'supposed to be', that explanation being enough, apparently, to get us out of trouble, having been tried and true in the past, the assumption of faux guilt and miniscule responsibility being adequate to assuage any possible punishment for deviance, no matter how great.

Including murder.