Bad Dreams
Previous - this entry written on August 03, 2008 at 6:13 pm - Next

Puppy's been recalled to service. Monday, he'll be in camp, being reindoctrinated and getting a crash course to get him back to the proper obedient and deadly mindset the Marines insist on. Within a month or so, he'll be over in Afghanistan. He's not going back to his old position exactly; he's still got a fairly high rank so it's not like he'll be a grunt either. More than likely, he'll be leading a small team out for search-and-clear missions. Technically it's possible he could be stuck in a teaching position, and if that's the case he'll be here in the States, but he thinks (and I agree) that he's much more likely to be sent over.

This means that now there're two people I'll be having nightmares about. It was bad enough waking up in a cold sweat every few weeks having dreamed that Torian had gotten killed by a bomb, or shot, or that a missile had hit her, or that she'd been stabbed, or poisoned... now I'll be dreaming of him too, worrying that he'll have been killed and that I'll never even know. Yeah, yeah, I know I shouldn't be worrying about him; I know too that of everyone I care about, he has the strongest drive to survive in situations like that. This doesn't stop me from worrying.

I woke up this morning from a dream about him. I dreamed that he was standing outside a building in a desert city, the walls baked and crumbling somewhat, scruffy little grasses growing where the walls met the ground. The building was three stories tall, with the third story being little more than a glorified attic. There was a door rather like the old-fashioned cellar doors you see in tornado states that led underground, and I knew somehow that there were supplies stored there, hidden away.

There was rumbling, the noise of large vehicles trekking down a road somewhere nearby. Occasionally there would be the sound of a plane overhead. I could hear quite a few people talking and laughing, most of it in English although there was a bit of what sounded like Spanish as well. I saw him standing in the doorway of the building, on his way out, pausing to call back over his shoulder about something... then a burst of yelling from the group out of sight, a harsh hissing sound, and then... boom.

The building collapsed, dust everywhere, and I couldn't see him any more. I yelled and called and started digging through the rubble, but I couldn't find him, not even a trace.

I know he'll survive. I know that most of the time, I won't be stressing about it at all. I know he didn't really have a say in it, I know he'll be careful, I know I'll see him again.

Still... there's two I'll dream of.

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