Dreams are connections of realms, time and space... That's according to my grandmother who recently deceased. She was very weird and mysterious from the way she talks and from the sentences she says.
If dreams are nothing and just creations by our imagination, why does it exists? Of course God will not make something useless... Or just nothing. I wonder.
Dreams are the gate from thoughts and minds... I have read it from my favourite book called, "The Dreams Means". It's the manifestation of reality according to the way you look to the world. Well, it doesn't make sense if you'll dream anything you haven't seen. It doesn't make sense if your dream is the future... But when it happen, doesn't it still make sense, does it? Or what if dreams aren't just dreams in terms of reality. Maybe it's another form of reality? Well... I guess not. Dreams...
What important is...
Now...
What's happening now...?
Hmmm...
Everything seems so pale... The scene, it's black and white... My vision looks cloudy and blurry... It's like some sort of a dream... Or maybe it is...
Is this that dream again...? Hmmm... Yes... That dream...
Who's that? It looks like me... But older... A lot older than me...
He seemed to be in a struggle...
Suddenly I saw a shadowy figure handling a chainsaw...
My vision went black...
I heard a voice screaming loudly, "Arrrgh! There will always be justice..." I think it's the man I saw... I can hear the frightening sound of a chainsaw trying to cut a body into two, "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."
I think he said a name, "..." I can't understand it clearly.
"Sky! Sky!" now I hear my name... It echoes... "Sky! Sky, wake up!" It's a familiar voice... It's my mom... It's my mom waking me up... I can now see clearer...
I stood up. After a pause of about three seconds, mother said, "What's the matter my dear? Those dream again?" she knows my dreams.
Everynight I tell them to her. "Okay what dream? The shadowy figure that will kill a guy that looks like you, or the one who was killed under the willow?" she said while she is arranging the plates.
The sound of the faucet turning it off, "Squeeeeek!" surrounded the room and created a woeful ambiance as father is about to come in. Violently, father shouted in a raised voice. Straining from his spleen, he demanded to mom. This kind of a episode isn't new for my sightings. It always happen. Mom and dad always argue... Because of me.
I left the house leaving a letter in my bed saying, "Mom, I went to the place" she knows where's the place I'm talking.
I am going to a peaceful place with my friends. It's where we don't think about problems and forget about it atleast in a range of time. It's where we can play with happiness and express sadness... Under that willow tree...
