Dream Requiem| Draft 4

DREAM REQUIEM
After thirty nights of the same nightmare I can still recall every vivid detail of the dream. I am standing in a white clay desert, the ground looks like broken pottery. Far off in the distance, against the blur of reflected heat, I can see the dust plume created by galloping horses. I try to turn and run away but I am unable to move at all, as if I am stuck to the ground. When the riders draw nearer, I instantly recognize them as the four horsemen of the apocalypse. The white, black, and fiery red horses have riders that aren’t clearly visible. In contrast the pale horse whose rider is death appears to me in perfect clarity. At which point, our eyes lock in each other’s gaze, he begins to speak and I wake up, bathed in sweat.I was never one to believe that dreams have meanings; however this was causing me to wonder. I had never been the religious type, so the metaphor of the horsemen baffled me. The part that most concerned me was death speaking to me. What was he about to say? Why did I always awaken before I could hear his words?I tied the white laces of my Doc Martens and headed out the door, still exhausted from the tumultuous visions of my sleep. I met up with a bunch of the guys from the Woodpile, title given to any group of “haters”, at Starbuck’s to plan out a day of nefarious deeds. Some of these guys I had met in the joint, anyways we all knew each other from the time spent as wards of the state. Crime was a common denominator. Assault the most common. The other people lived at the south end of town, consequently the greatest portion of the illicit attacks we engaged in occurred at the south end of town. We would roll the young ones for beer money, catch a good buzz and then set out to conquer the gangs closer to our own age. Occasionally somebody would bring a knife or maybe a chain, but only used them if the brawl became one-sided.Today was to be the day of Revelation. We happened upon a group of about dozen guys, a number only slightly larger than our own. The thing about fighting on this end of town, rarely did the skirmish require any provocation. This time proved no different. Once out of the car we straight away became engaged. The fight had been going only moments when I heard the gunfire, a sound distinctly identifiable even if you never have heard it before. Instantly I felt a searing burn in my side and fell to the ground. The combatants disbursed leaving me there alone except for the sound of sirens.I felt a chill and opened my eyes, the pale horse’s rider looks down upon me and again our gaze met. He starts to speak and I hear these words, “I have come to take your life.”