A Mind's Eyes 05
Story by Mantrid_Brizon on SoFurry
Dream date: Recurring (2008-2016)
Perspective: 1st-person
An on-and-off recurring dream where I am in a solid white room. It’s as if I am in a bright void, not unlike a sheet of paper and I’m the only character on it. Before me sits a small card table from the 1950s or 1960s, with a black and white checkerboard pattern. In a white bowl sitting atop a white plate and filled is a milk and cereal. The box is nearby, just before me and to my right and at a slight angle. The contents changed with each dream; sometimes it was life, other times it was fruit loops or cocoa puffs. I can taste the cereal. Staring straight ahead, I eat the cereal with a silver spoon.
Suddenly, the flavor abruptly changes between bites. The texture is different, like clay when soaked and malleable. I turn my head down and look into the bowl to find that the cereal and milk are gone. In its place is a spoonful of bullets. When I say bullets, I mean the actual bullet; there’s no shell casing or gunpowder, only the full-metal jacket tip that comes out of the barrel when fired. They are round nosed, ball rounds, and are about the same size as .380 ACP or 9x19mm Parabellum. Looking at the spoonful of bullets, the bowl’s contents glistens in the bright light of my confinement.
I bring the spoon to my lips and try eating the bullets. I am able to chew them, and they have a sweet yet bitter taste, something I once heard is what lead actually tastes like if you accidentally ingest it. There’s also a faint hint of brass or copper, as if I had licked a penny. I can’t help but make a disgusted face as I eat the bullets. When I finish that bite, I take another. I have a sudden sense of dread, and then I wake up.
Self-assessment: I had long believed, for reasons I cannot explain or even fathom, that I would one day die by the gun. It began as early as age 9. Perhaps it’s because of that old saying “live by the sword, die by the sword”, though that saying is meant more for the behavior of malicious use and not mere ownership. I have been extremely depressed and lonely before, though I was never suicidal (for religious reasons), but it did influence my behavior. In many instances I have acted as a death-seeker in the slums of nearby Detroit, and as I have a license to carry concealed pistols, I simply assumed (and often still do) that one day I’ll walk into the wrong store, cross paths with the wrong person, or will be targeted by nefarious characters and end up dying in a shoot-out. Perhaps it’s prophetic, or perhaps it’s just my brain conceiving it?