Less of a
dream, more of a
nightmare.
I probably had this dream because I had seen the movie Fail Safe earlier on in the day and it pretty much scared the crap out of me.
My family home is in a small seaside village on the border between northern and southern Ireland, on the southern side. It's a very quiet and peaceful place, and beautiful to behold on a sunny day.
Anyway, the dream began with me watching the news on sky digital that the cold war had begun again. Dubya and Vladamir Putin were at each others throats over new chemical weapons technology, of which I can't fully remember the details.
So there is a lot of tension building between the two nations. So far China and Korea have kept out of the whole affair, France and Great Britain were behind the United States, India and Pakistan were just looking for an excuse to nuke each other anyway.
Back to my quiet village and people are stockpiling food, reinforcing their dwellings as best they can. There is no immediate panic as such. People are actually quite calm. They've said their prayers, they don't seem to be afraid to die in a nuclear holocaust. Their only hope is that it will be quick and painless.
I watch the events unfold on television. US and GB submarines are to position themselves in the Irish Sea. I look out the window and see for or five periscopes moving slowly around the bay. This worries me greatly as they would naturally be targets for the Russian defensive.
Everyone is my family is glued to Sky News when it happens. The US launch a volley of ICBM's at Moscow and St. Petersburg from bases in Texas. While the missiles are in the air, Russia launch a huge offesive strike at all major cities in the US from their nuclear submarines, effectively wiping out New York, Washington, LA, Boston and Chicago. At this point the satellite TV signal is cut off and we stare at static.
Night draws in. We still have electricity but are advised to keep the lights to a minimum as a wave of Russian bombers is expected to attack major cities in the UK.
Sound advice.
The night is lit by a brilliant moon, casting shadows as we sit on the beach observing the light show east across the water, what we can only assume is England being struck by thermonuclear weapons. We watch as the submarines, not half a mile away from us, launch a series of missiles that arc gracefully into the darkness.
We know our time is up. As we sit there bathing in radiation from our unfortunate warring neighbour we resign ourselves to the fact that we are going to die within the next few days.
Tidal waves are expected to hit our shores in minutes. Some people decide that this is the way to go. I decide differently and make my way back to my house, which is now deserted. An emergency team knocks on the door and tries to give me some supplies of fresh water with this special red dye in it that indicates the amount of radioactive pollution in the liquid. I refuse and open a bottle of whiskey with the intention of drinking myself to death.
I drink and drink till I pass out.
I come to in a London Underground station which is packed with hundreds of survivors. I meet an old school friend and ask him how London is. He bursts into tears and tells me there is nothing left. I refuse to believe him so we get the elevator in from the bottom floor of the tube station to street level.
When we arrive at the top, my vision turns to black and white. My friend, the elevator, the tube station all disappear, and I am alone in a charred and smoking wasteland.
I begin to cry, then scream.