Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Had a freaky/weird dream last night

I had limited sleep because of the 4th of July and the fact that I had to be into work early for a Conference call back east (those Easterners think the whole 2-3 hour time difference revolves around them!)

Anyway, it starts out with my brother Russ coming over to the house looking for my brother Jeff. I asked what for and he said they were going to be doing a job for some guy where they could make $2500 in one day. Jeff wasn't around, so I said I wanted to do it with him. He said OK. I asked him what it was and he didn't know, but was told it was so easy to do.

So, next thing I know I'm getting off a small plane in a small town in Mexico. My brother and I are lead into this big hanger-type building and taken to an upstairs room.

An American dude comes out and for some reason I know who he is (not personally, but by reputation). The American is very intimidating in his presence alone. Not that he's big and full of muscles, but there is something about his presense that makes you address him as "sir". So, back to how I know him. He's a known terrorist and wanted. This is the reason why we are there. He starts to give us a speech, but it was more about orders. He doesn't specifically say what we are to do, but he talks about certain monuments, buildings, government officials, etc. and what they have done to corrupt America or how they represent the corruption of America.

As we are given our speech, we see out the window many other young American males coming and going as if they're having a good time there. Some are even as young as 18 year olds (so they act very immature).

We find out our job is to place a certain leather bag/breif case thingy in a certain area of a building. That is all we do. We walk away and it detonates. My first thought is that we're just to destroy property, not people....right? Anyway, the answer is never really clear. My brother and I, out of complete fear, tell the terrorist we are going to do it. We had heard that if you don't agree with it, he executes you on the spot.

So, Mr. Terrorist breaks out this huge book full of names inside of it. He also goes back to his office and brings out this huge knife. He makes us sign our names with ink, then makes us cut our finger and sign it in blood. Russ goes first, I go second. As we sign our names, Mr. Terrorist continues to give us our orders and motivational speeches about how what we are doing is good and right and what we destroy is only helping bring America back to what it should be. My issue during this speech is that the knife was so dull that I couldn't get it to break my skin. I was pushing and pushing and pushing so hard. I was afraid that if I didn't get the skin broken before the speech was done, that Mr. Terrorist would just hold my finger down and chop it off in order to draw some blood. I finally made it break the skin and signed away.

So, Mr. Terrorist gives us our bags and let's us know when we are leaving. He tells us to "Enjoy our short stay in Mexico before it's time to leave". This whole time, my thoughts are on how wrong this is and how scared I was and how I didn't want to hurt anyone. I was too afraid to ask Mr. Terrorist if people were going to be hurt. I had thoughts of not following the orders. Of placing the breifcase in a dumpster, or in a land fill somewhere far away. I was afraid of even being caught with the case. My brother was like a statue the whole time, not saying a thing and just going with it. I was so afraid to even have a negative thought about the whole thing, thinking that Mr. Terrorist would be able to read my mind.

So my brother and I head straight for the small airport. We are so petrified about what we are about to do, that we don't take time to "Enjoy our short stay in Mexico". We get to our terminal for our small private plane that we were originally flown down for. As we get to the area, we see many young men like us, all carrying similar breif cases. We were all getting ready to board the same plane. One particular person that was waiting to board was Mr. Jon Heder of Naploeon Dynamite fame. He was a terrorist hench-man just like us. Since my brother and I recognized him, we walked over and sat next to him. We talked to him as if we somewhat knew him, or were familiar with him. He seemed very calm and relaxed and didn't seem to have a care in the world. We tried to talk to him in some kind of made-up-on-the-spot code. "So, are you working for the man that owns this airplane?" and "So, when you accidentally forget your breifcase somewhere, are there others around to find it"? This was the most important question I wanted answered. He told me there are and others will not be around after they find it.

I was shocked and scared. I asked how his conscious could go through with it. He said this was his 18th trip. Just then, I flash back to the time I finish signing my blood and Mr. Terrorist says we are to come back once a month on the first thursday to do another job. As he walked away, he says something to the effect of, "I see Mr. Ben Griffith hasn't been back. Looks like my boys in Arizona will have to pay him and his family a little visit". That lead me to believe that if we didn't continue what he told us we needed to, that he'd have me and my family killed.

So anyway, back at the terminal, a big, black cop comes walking around our area. He's an American and is there to check security or something? He looks at Russ, Jon, and I very suspiciously. He walks over to us and starts to make small talk about our trip, etc. He keeps looking at Jon's bag and every time he gazes in that direction, I ask him about a certain painting or something outside the window. The cop leaves and doesn't prod around anymore.

Then I realize I forgot to cross my "T" in my blood signature at the hangar. I rush back over there (it was across the street) and go up into the small room and find the book, opened on the table. I go to cross my "T" and notice my name is scratched out with a "He's dead" stamp next to it. This freaked me out and I feel that I must have said or done something to piss Mr. Terrorist off.

So, I run outside, across the road to the airport. I tell my brother we have to get out, that someone is out to get me. My thoughts go crazy. I think of what they'd do to me if they catch me? Will they just blow my brains out and get it over with? Will they take that same dull knife and cut me up slowly? What about my family? What if I can escape back? I wouldn't even know how to get home? I have no idea where in Mexico we are. I'd likely starve to death trying to walk home. What if I could get home, then get the FBI to place us under the witness protection program? Yeah, that would be a good one.

Just then, I see a group of hench-men approaching us from a distance. (this is where reality sets in) I then wake up sweating like crazy and turn on the swamp cooler. So relieved it was just a dream, Alene asks if everything is OK. Just being glad to see her safe and me not being cut up in some hangar in Mexico, I told her everything was fine.

Some dreams are so real, it's crazy. I'm wondering what would have happened if I had kept sleeping. Would I have become a hero and busted out some Jackie Chan-like moves? Or would I have been like Harrison Ford in the Fugitive and kind of clumsily escape every situation and get back to Mr. Terrorist (who, if following the Fugitive story, by this time would be the one-armed man). Who knows.

Anyone else find this story to be freaky? Or is it just some deamon/memory that I have to deal with?

I'm still a little freaked out about it.

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