22-07-11

This is the worst and scariest dream I have ever had. I should never have sat down and started following the lunatic mass murderers trial streaming on the internet. But I did, and I had to lie down after a few hours of it. I fell asleep with my cat next to me.

I’m being flown by helicopter to the mass-murderers farm, where he carefully planned his attacks and where he made the massive bomb. This is where the trial is supposed to be held. Some logic as to why this is a good idea escapes me. We circle above the farm several times before we land, and I get so sad and depressed by the view I cannot describe it. I lose all hope.

Inside now. The court reminds me of a classroom. I’m on the front row, sitting next to the lunatics defense lawyer. The infantile killer is on the stand, talking bizarre nonsense, slowly. He smiles. He winks at me. He laughs. I experience a violent and uncontrollable urge to get up and kill him on his feet, I want to beat him to death, I want to see his blood spurt, I want him to cease to exist in the most gruesome and grotesque fashion.

Later, there’s a break. I am talking to the monster – or rather, he’s talking to me, telling me a story from a time when he went to a bar. He’s in a good mood. I can’t get myself to reply to him, I’m afraid of him. I just listen to his stupid story, and I know that he knows what the looks I’m giving him implies.

Suddenly he reaches for me. His hands lock around my throat, hard, and I can feel how I’m losing control, I’m being strangled, I can’t breathe, I panic completely. I watch security personnel and police try to kick and drag and punch him away from me. At last they manage to. The murderer falls to the floor and is quickly handcuffed.

I scream to him. With an unbelievable force I cry, I holler and shout, I call him the ugliest fucking things I can think of, but I just don’t feel better. I know inside me that he has won, somehow he has triumphed and we’re all doomed. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I start to weep, and a woman, who’s involved in the investigation, comforts me and takes me out of the room. She hoists me up onto her lap, as if I’m a child. I cry there, a lot, and I complain and explain how terrified I am. While in her lap, I notice that her short skirt has slid up all the way to her crotch. She has no underpants on and her private parts are exposed. This calms me down. I feel like shit.

At that moment the killer freak rushes by us, suitcase in hand, looking stressed out and in a hurry. He’s escaping. A policeman is in pursuit. He reaches a closed door at the end of the room that will take him out in the hallway, and the maniac rips a mounted phonebooth off the wall and plunges it through the glass in the door.

I get up and run straight across the room to the door on the other end, that leads into the same hallway. I open it and I watch him crawl through the window. As he does, I see the policeman come up right behind him. I expect him to catch the killer, but instead he complains to him that he chose the wrong door. As I realise that the policeman is in on it, I try to close the door and get away, but the door is jammed and for no reason at all I still try to close it. The bastard is now approaching me, murder in his eyes. I feel deeply disappointed, by the world, myself, everyone.

I wake up, soaked, and with tears in my eyes. For a long time I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling lost and without any hope.