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Chapter 10

 A Fatal Encounter



A violent dream again the other night. It took place at some kind of a bar. A man I had a short thing with when I was an undergrad student came over to talk to me. He was very drunk and was all "Oh, it's sooo good to see you!". It made me feel uneasy, both because I never really felt comfortable in his presence, and because he was so wasted he could hardly stand up. I looked at him but I didn't say anything, or react in any way to his behaviour. I picked up a pack of cigarettes from my purse, but before I had the chance to take one myself he grabbed two from the package. I thought it was very rude, and kind of a provocative thing to do, but I just let it pass – mostly because I was afraid of what would happen if I did or said anything about it.
          I had the feeling he wanted to provoke me, in one way or the other. But as he didn't get any responses from me he got tired of hanging there, so he went away – to a tractor standing at the far right side of the room. There a girl, who had been chosen to drive it – in the dream it was an honour to be chosen to drive this tractor – was upset, devastated really, because her glove had got stuck between the seats and she couldn't pull it out.
          Parallel to this happening I was talking to a friend from my years as a doctoral student, a woman. She was very nice, but I had an overall feeling of anxiety about being in that bar all-together. All I wanted was to leave, and so I did. To find my way out of there I had to go through a tunnel, sort of a basement labyrinth with lots of side tracks and detours. I was a bit scared I wouldn't find the door out, but at the same time it was like a compass at the back of my head guided my in the right direction. And I did find the door after a short while.
          When I got out I found myself in the town where I grew up. I started to walk towards the house I lived in back then, but as I did I had the feeling I was at the wrong place somehow. I continued walking all-the-same, it was as if I had to get to that house before I could stop and think, to come up with an idea on how to get to the right place. I
noticed it was already rather late, and the streets were almost deserted. I had just turned right at the corner of D-way and K-road when two immigrant men went pass me. They looked as if they came from some Arabic country.
          I felt a bit worried when passing them, worried they should say or do anything to me. They didn't, they simply noticed my presence, in the inattentive way people notices others when their minds are preoccupied with something else. I continued walking and after additionally some fifty metres or so I went past a guy on a moped, and it got me worried again because this guy appeared as being truly evil. His eyes were evil. But he didn't do anything, he just gave me a malice glance and drove past. During both those brief encounters I pretended as if I didn't feel any worry or fear whatsoever.
          I walked a bit further then stopped and looked back, to see if anything was happening behind me or if anyone was following me. What I saw when I turned around petrified me. A short bit down the road the guy on the moped had started circling round the immigrant men in an obvious attempt to annoy them. They didn't respond to his confrontational behaviour in the way he wanted them to, that is, they weren't getting angry with him, instead they tried to continue walking as if they didn't notice him. Trying to ignore him. This obviously infuriated the moped-guy.
          He turned off his moped, dismounted and came walking towards them. He blocked their way and said something offensive to them, I couldn't hear what, I was too far away, but I did hear the tone in his voice and it alarmed me. It was the voice of cold hatred. Then he started to push them around. At first, the immigrant men tried to ignore him again, but as he continued and became more and more violent they started to fight back. While this was happening they all moved closer to where I was standing, but they were so strictly focused on each other they didn't notice my standing there.
          I stood still, watching them getting closer to me, and getting closer and closer to enter a full scale fight. I could see how intensely they were focusing each other to read the situation and prepare for whatever the next move would be. Then, as if predetermined, extremely long and very sharp nails grew out on their fingers. They began attacking one another with them, using them like weapons. Soon the moped-guy slashed one of his nails hard and deep into the torso of one of the immigrants. The attacked man fell down on his knees, crying to the moped-guy to please stop, because he knew that
this wasn't just a fight anymore, this was a battle and it wasn't going to end until one of them were dead. But the moped-guy didn't stop, he continued to attack the immigrant man lying on the ground, ripping up deep wounds with his long sharp fingernails, directing his attacks towards the man’s wrists and throat – the most unprotected and vulnerable parts on his body.
          The immigrant man was now so badly wounded he couldn't defend himself at all, his body was covered with deep slashes and cuts, he bled extensively and could barely breathe. When I saw this I knew I had to flee, because if the moped-guy became aware that I had witnessed what had happened he would come after me, and he would kill me. So I just ran in panic, thinking that I should pick up my cell and call the police to come and help the immigrant man, but I was so petrified with fear by now I lost control over my body. I couldn't make my hand pick up the phone. So I just ran, or, I tried to, but I didn't seem to get anywhere. And the fear became so strong I awoke with a start. 3 am.

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When standing on my balcony I can look into three of my neighbours’ apartments, the three small rooms behind the gable-windows facing the eastern side of the house. Usually I don't look that way, mainly because the rooms are very small and my neighbours don't seem to use them much, so there's really nothing there to see. But tonight I noticed my second floor neighbour had a guest sleeping over there, the bed placed just beneath the window.
          That room is usually almost cleansed from furniture, and the walls are painted in a cold blue nuance I don't particularly care for. But tonight they'd put that bed in the room, a bed with a large very comfy looking quilt and a fluffy pillow, and an old man was sleeping there. It looked like he was all tucked in, as if cuddled and huddled up in that quilt, with his head buried deep in the fluffy pillow. It looked so safe, so sleepy. I thought about that later, when I tried to fall asleep myself. It made me feel secure, to know that an old man was sleeping so tight and comfortably in that comfy bed with this large quilt and fluffy pillow just a few rooms away. I have no remembrance of what I dreamt – if anything – this night.


Author: When Tomorrow Comes

Takemehome Book Cover, Foreword and Table of Content Chapter 9
Chapter 11

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