DreamLab Njegere
Papal Assanination and other Dreams
by
, 08-19-2015 at 06:04 PM (772 Views)
I am in Italy, at a mall. In a small auditorium to the side, a stage has been set up. A kindly old gentleman in clericals mounts the stage. His weathered and a reddened face cracks into a smile. His circular glasses fall down and rest on the tip of his nose.
"I have been the subject of almost universal dismissal," he says, then cracks a mischievous grin. "It gives my great joy."
Suddenly he jerks back and collapses on the floor. A pool of blood forms under his head. I do not understand what I am seeing. Then a reporter cries out: "The pope has been shot!"
A wave of humanity surges forward like the contraction of some huge muscles. I find myseld behind the pope, as his wife (that's a dreamsign there, if there ever was one) rushes to his corpse. Somone pulls her back and she collapses on the stairs of the podium and weeps. I walk down the stairs as the pope's still form is carried by.
I am crying too. I am distraught, shocked, angry. I had loved the old pope, in my own way, the sort of love that one can give to someone you never meet but admire, the love only a non-Catholic would be able to provide. The pope was kind and compassionate. He was the kind of person who looked out for the people that society had forgotten about. He rejected all the splendid trappings of his office, and went around in his own car, and ate in the cafeteria line with his servants.
I am angry that someone would want to harm such a loving man. I stomp away. At the entrance to the mall there are some rough looking Italian teenage boys. They fall in line with me and we exit the mall.
Outside all is quiet. We look around and see people relaxing on benches, poking around on their phones. As if they hadn't a care in the world.
"They don't know," one of my companions says.
This girl looks up from her phone and sees us.
"The pope has been shot," she says, as if she's announcing the title of the newest Lady Gaga album.
"Or don't care," I add.
We stomp around, angry, looking at expensive cars.
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My Friend introduces me to some shady characters whose leader lives in a place called the Den. My friend gets in trouble with them, while I become part of the inner circle. They want me to go to the Den, but I am frightened. Finally they decide to send me home to await their orders.
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Something about being an ambassador to another country, whose monarch I slap, an unforgivable act. My queen gives me a profound speech, but I forget everything she said.
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