Last night, I had a very strange dream that I'm very afraid of.

First, for the part that really happened. A week ago, my girlfriend of less than a month broke up with me. I shouldn't be angry, and I am not. However, when she broke up with me, one of my other friends was going to get revenge on me, and I've continued to think that this was it, and there is still a small part of me that thinks that she wants to get together again. So, that's where I'm coming from.

The dream started out like a normal day at school and such. We had just finished lunch, and had only one more period until the end of the day: this period was french. During french, she didn't say anything to me, though she did glance in my direction a couple of times. After class, when I was walking out of the classroom and ready to go home, she pulls me aside and tells me that she has something important that she has to tell me.

Quite simply, she tells me that breaking up with me was the other person's revenge, that she really did want to get back together, and that she thinks of us as more than just good friends. I, being ecstatic because she had just told me what I had wanted to hear for over a week, agreed. Things seemed great.

Then I woke up. My dad was calling me for breakfast. This dream was in the front of my mind, and I couldn't get it out. Things went downhill very quickly, because I soon realized that this had been a dream, and not real life.

That's the end of my story. The part that scares me more than anything is that I do not have many dreams, and dreams are supposed to predict what will soon happen. If this is true, then my mind is picking up hints of things that I do not notice consciously. Although this dream would explain many of the problems with this entire episode that I have had, I cannot help but doubt that it will ever happen.
I was walking to a writer friend's house around the lonely hour of 3 P.M., except the sun wasn't out. It was a permanent dusk outside, and dogs were barking at me. I noticed that I had a whistle in my pocket, and I blew on it; the dogs would not stop barking.

When I entered the aforementioned friend's house, Beethoven's Fifth Symphony was playing. I approached him as he was writing, and asked if the music helped him to write. He didn't answer me, so I asked what he was writing. Again, no answer, so I pulled the paper out of the typewriter and, agape, I read, " I wont no..." I said, "You cheap imitation of Joyce, what the hell is this?"

He looked like a rat backed into a corner, albeit a feisty one. He replied, "Don't brandish your wooden sword at me!"

"Is that all, young Dedalus?" I mocked.

He didn't say anything; he sat down, defeated. At this point I was disgusted and hungry. I walked out of the house and found a toilet waiting on the front porch. I woke up with a stinging bladder.

Steven Weber and the mom from Donnie Darko wanted to make me into a child star, to replace some Haley Joel Osment look-alike with stage fright. But I didn't want to do it, so I went through each floor of Leo J. Pantas Hall, my college dormitory, and put bombs in the elevator machinery rooms.

Later on, I was at the big unveiling of this new child star, backstage with Steven Weber and the mom from Donnie Darko, and the kid was in the middle of answering questions from the crowd, when he just ran off. Somehow they convinced me to take his place. I put on some glasses and got up on the stage. Everyone was cheering for me and hanging on my every word. I was so happy, I forgot about not wanting to do this, and I also forgot about the bombs I'd planted.

The next day, the day the bombs were to go off, I was hanging around with Steven Weber and the mom from Donnie Darko in the theater where the press conference had been the night before. They were worried "this thing" they'd started was getting too big, and they had to put a stop to it.

Apparently, there was another press conference planned for that night, or sometime soon, for which they had set up a giant flame thrower in the ceiling that would kill every person in the room. But the cord that activated it was too short and the mom from Donnie Darko couldn't reach it.

She walked over to Steven Weber and said "We're gonna die, aren't we?"

"Yeah, it looks that way," he said.

"Why?" I asked. "Is this building close to Pantas?"

"It's right next door," replied the mom from Donnie Darko, as she sat down, defeated. Just then, we felt a rumbling, and there was a bright flash of light. I ran over to the window and watched as each floor, one by one, exploded into a giant fireball. And it wasn't until after they'd all blown, after I realized I'd killed every person in the building, that I really started to feel bad about it.

"What have I done?" I turned to Steven Weber and the mom from Donnie Darko. I tried to think of the people I knew in that building, but I couldn't even remember who any of them were. All I knew was that I'd never see any of them again. Steven Weber and the mom from Donnie Darko consoled me as the fire department showed up at Pantas to assess the damage. It was only at this point that I began to worry about what would happen if the police caught me.

At some point, I also became very concerned with the prospect of going to Hell. I realized there was no escaping eternal damnation now. The minor sins I had perpetrated throughout my life - lust, dishonesty, spite - meant nothing now, because nothing could wash away what I'd just done.

I woke up shortly thereafter, and, needless to say, my home had not been blown up. The thing about it is, I don't even believe in Hell.

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