. 17.07.13 the Journalist .

  My friend was an investigative journalist, who had been working on his latest scoop for the longest time. He knew that some people were after him. He was the target of a lot of powerful and dangerous people, as he wrote amazing pieces on human rights and the freedom of people from the oppressing governments around the world. Sadly he was assasinated/murdered while working on his latest job. I had some of his worknotes and discovered that he mentioned the people he suspected were onto him; two aliases by the names of Rapier and Hyena. But what my Dream is mainly about is what happened after his death.

  Before his death, he recorded a series of videos of his family, his closest friends, all his loved ones, which he made into a documentary. The documentary was aired after his imminent death and we all watched it. When it showed on TV, I was watching it with my dad. It looked as if he was filming his own birthday party, with his voice spoke in the background, "This is my beautiful mother - This is my baba (father) - And this is my good friend, Yaqeen. He always wants to be the first to welcome me and hold my hand during celebrations," to which the friend in the screen laughed. Everyone looked so happy, for he was considered a hero in his country. No one looked like they knew they were celebrating the last birthday of his life.

  My friend always wrote poems, mostly about his life, his family, and his home, Kashmir. In my Dream, his compilation of poetry was voted number#1 in the newspapers list of top most read literature, after the premier of his documentary. His documentary, upon its release, became number 9 in the list of most watched documented media of the week and won an international award. My greatest surprise was the mail I recieved after I finished watched TV. I couldn't watch the film till the end, it was too sad. My heart ached every time I recalled the smiling faces of his parents.

  Looking through today's mail, I noticed an important-looking envelope addressed to me. I opened it up and found that it was some kind of will. In the will, my friend had entrusted to me a certain amount of money. Accompanying the will was a letter personally written by him, thanking us and hoping that the money could help us with whatever problems we had with our families. He asked us to take care of our families while we still had the chance. He had given most of his savings to his family and distributed it among his closest friends. He also donated to different charities and organizations. I cried, still holding onto the envelope, pressing it close to my chest. My heart cried, sincerely missing such a good person and friend, who died doing what he loved and protecting those he loved.


Sorry if this Dream was short and perhaps not as whimsical as some of the others, but this was a really sad Dream for me to remember and write down because knowing this friend in real life, it sounded like it was something he would really do. May God protect him and bless him for what he's done, and for being such a good friend and man to begin with.

. 10.04.13 salamander .

  It was past the hours of twilight and I roamed around the rooftops of a dark and bustling metropolis. From a glance, I knew it was the city of Gotham, and I was just one of its disliked inhabitants. I was a reptilian, half-breed, with blood-red and fiery ember scales. My hair was long and black like tar. I had a pair of horns, and my left eye was absolutely white though I wasn’t blind. I had a long, whip-like tail with sharp spikes at the end of it. My only companions were my two demon dogs, whom I named Psykes and Cleaver. As dangerous as I seemed with my entourage, my Persona didn’t seem criminal at all. Because of my likeness, I laid low and stayed out of people’s way in general. The shadows were my home.

  A big crime had gone down in my part of the city so I sent my dogs to investigate. The two dogs looked like zombie mutts, with shreds of their flesh missing here and there. They both had black and dark red fur. Their eyes were totally white, but glowed red when provoked. Something about them reminded me of Neil Gaiman’s characters Cain and Abel from the Sandman universe, how Cain would relentlessly torture and kill his younger brother over and over again but Abel kept regenerating because they were somewhat immortal. Psykes and Cleaver were exactly like that, Psykes being Cain. I called him Psykes because he had more of a psychotic streak than his younger brother.

  Psykes was picking a fight with Cleaver again and as he tore up his neck and slash his long claws at his belly, Cleaver would just whine and howl in agony. My character was a bit cold in character in the sense that this was the norm and didn’t bother intervening even as Cleaver died over and over again. Suddenly, alarm struck and the streets were busy. I shushed the dogs so that I could see what was going on. Something had struck Gotham city; Robin was dead, and the Dark Knight wants to know who killed him.

The Dream ended there, but if I were to continue the story, I’d guess that people started seeing me around the crime scenes and made me the prime suspect. This pisses Batman off and he tracks me down to question if I had anything to do with it. I’m innocent of course, and to prove it, I’d help Batman look for Robin’s actual killer. My dogs were better eyes and ears, and hunters for him in the underground metropolis. I call my character a Salamander because in some occult beliefs, the Salamander is the elemental of fire; a mythical being with an affinity to fire. Even though I didn’t see my Persona play with fire or anything, her scales reminded me of flames and her dogs seemed like Hellhounds so why not.