I do not remember very many of my dreams. It makes me wonder how often I actually dream. I've heard we dream every night. It sounds wonderful. I tend to only remember my bad dreams. It's just bad luck, I suppose.
Last night I dreamed I was working in the hospital. I was not in the ER though; I'm not sure where I was. But I was drawing pictures for patients. The patients were mostly children. I drew pictures of whatever they asked onto a dry-erase board that would stay in their room. It made the children happy.
I walked into a room where a boy was laying down, connected to all of the monitors. His whole family was there, crowded around his bed. "What would you like me draw for you?" I asked him. "A cat." He said. I started drawing the image but my hand would not respond. Instead, it slowly scrawled out the words "because the boy's sin." I panicked and tried to erase it before anybody noticed but my hands kept drawing things. Terrible images of death and torture. I couldn't stop my hands from drawing them. Soon the board was covered in gruesome images and words, but nobody said anything or looked at it. Finally my hands started working again and I was able to erase everything except the initial words. Because the boy's sin.
Then the boy died. His heart stopped beating. The nurses rushed in and started performing their various tasks. I put the board face down on the ground and tried to help. But other patients I had drawn pictures for started dying. "What's going on?" A nurse asked me. I tried to tell him about the drawings but he couldn't hear me. Nobody could hear me. I tried to scream and yell to tell anyone about the drawings but nobody heard. Finally, a nurse approached me. She looked at me and said, "You are death. You are an agent of Satan."
I woke up after that and felt terrible. I did not want to go back to sleep.
Last night I dreamed I was working in the hospital. I was not in the ER though; I'm not sure where I was. But I was drawing pictures for patients. The patients were mostly children. I drew pictures of whatever they asked onto a dry-erase board that would stay in their room. It made the children happy.
I walked into a room where a boy was laying down, connected to all of the monitors. His whole family was there, crowded around his bed. "What would you like me draw for you?" I asked him. "A cat." He said. I started drawing the image but my hand would not respond. Instead, it slowly scrawled out the words "because the boy's sin." I panicked and tried to erase it before anybody noticed but my hands kept drawing things. Terrible images of death and torture. I couldn't stop my hands from drawing them. Soon the board was covered in gruesome images and words, but nobody said anything or looked at it. Finally my hands started working again and I was able to erase everything except the initial words. Because the boy's sin.
Then the boy died. His heart stopped beating. The nurses rushed in and started performing their various tasks. I put the board face down on the ground and tried to help. But other patients I had drawn pictures for started dying. "What's going on?" A nurse asked me. I tried to tell him about the drawings but he couldn't hear me. Nobody could hear me. I tried to scream and yell to tell anyone about the drawings but nobody heard. Finally, a nurse approached me. She looked at me and said, "You are death. You are an agent of Satan."
I woke up after that and felt terrible. I did not want to go back to sleep.
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