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| 184_2545 Parliament House (Photo credit: Kate's Photo Diary) |
I am walking through somebody’s backward. It is a typical
backyard; green grass, some trees, a fence. There is a patio behind the house,
which is to my right. To my left is a steep but short manmade incline, atop
which sits a small shed. Behind the shed there are woods. The house is a
typical American one, white siding, green or blue shutters, I can’t remember,
and a sliding glass door that opens up to the patio, which is basically a
cement slab. It’s a warm sunny day, the sky is clear and blue, and there is a
cool breeze that rustles thru the trees and over my body as I walk.
I am walking by the house, content with the serenity of my surroundings. I don’t even know where I’m walking but I don’t care, nothing could destroy this moment.
As I walk past the sliding glass door the house changes. Suddenly its siding becomes light brown mud or stucco, its features are no longer American. It is no longer a house, it doesn’t fit into it’s surroundings. I look to my front and there is a man dressed in a black shirt and black pants, his face and head wrapped up in a red checkered scarf so as to maintain his anonymity. He is holding an AK-47 assault rifle. Suddenly in my hands there is an M-4 assault rifle, the exact one I carried when I was a radio operator in Iraq. I raise my rifle and fire into the man, it’s hard to move, almost like I’m paralyzed. The discharge of my weapon is earsplitting, the bullets tear into this man’s chest and he falls back against the wall of the house. To my right there is still a sliding glass door, on the other side there are dozens of men dressed just like this one, just like Iraqi fighters. What happened to the peace I knew only moments before? They begin to fire at me as I turn and run up the incline to the shed, which is now a mud-hut. Now I’m in my desert fatigues and I’m wearing a flak vest and helmet. I take a position on the corner of the house and begin scanning for targets, they’re everywhere. The fighters are trying to make their way to me so I begin engaging them. One by one they fall down, but more come, determined to shatter my peace. Now my old squad is around me, all my old friends from Iraq. My squad leader is yelling orders. We’re all desperately firing into these fighters, trying to stop their advance. They keep coming, it seems hopeless, all our firing can do is slow their advance, soon they’ll be upon us, fear is gripping me; my heart is beating faster. This is it. This is where I’m going to die; the lullaby of gunfire will carry me away from here. Everything starts to fade out. My heart is still beating faster. Everything goes black.
I am walking by the house, content with the serenity of my surroundings. I don’t even know where I’m walking but I don’t care, nothing could destroy this moment.
As I walk past the sliding glass door the house changes. Suddenly its siding becomes light brown mud or stucco, its features are no longer American. It is no longer a house, it doesn’t fit into it’s surroundings. I look to my front and there is a man dressed in a black shirt and black pants, his face and head wrapped up in a red checkered scarf so as to maintain his anonymity. He is holding an AK-47 assault rifle. Suddenly in my hands there is an M-4 assault rifle, the exact one I carried when I was a radio operator in Iraq. I raise my rifle and fire into the man, it’s hard to move, almost like I’m paralyzed. The discharge of my weapon is earsplitting, the bullets tear into this man’s chest and he falls back against the wall of the house. To my right there is still a sliding glass door, on the other side there are dozens of men dressed just like this one, just like Iraqi fighters. What happened to the peace I knew only moments before? They begin to fire at me as I turn and run up the incline to the shed, which is now a mud-hut. Now I’m in my desert fatigues and I’m wearing a flak vest and helmet. I take a position on the corner of the house and begin scanning for targets, they’re everywhere. The fighters are trying to make their way to me so I begin engaging them. One by one they fall down, but more come, determined to shatter my peace. Now my old squad is around me, all my old friends from Iraq. My squad leader is yelling orders. We’re all desperately firing into these fighters, trying to stop their advance. They keep coming, it seems hopeless, all our firing can do is slow their advance, soon they’ll be upon us, fear is gripping me; my heart is beating faster. This is it. This is where I’m going to die; the lullaby of gunfire will carry me away from here. Everything starts to fade out. My heart is still beating faster. Everything goes black.
This is one of the dreams i've had since i've come home from iraq
- This hasn't actually been my dream, but it is one that I read through and found quite interesting. I thought I would share as I thought others would find it interesting as well.
