Over the years I've had the same crazy dream. It always starts out with me being dropped off by some male stranger, in a beat up pick-up truck, on a very overcast, and cloudy day. I think it's fall based on the fact that we're both dressed in jackets and jeans. I walk through a very tall chain-link fence, to a nondescript building, and I begrudgingly venture inside.
Meandering down a series of hallways, I enter into a room where a very tall, red haired man with a high and tight haircut, stands. Dressed head to toe in black, he emotionlessly gestures for me to get onto the wooden contraption in the center of the room. This "contraption" is basically a slide, that he adjusted to be twice my height. I'm strapped to it, raised up and dropped into a pile of rocks. Afterwards, my legs broken, the guy walks over and places stones on my chest. One by one, until I die, and then, I wake up.
As I had them, the dreams would end differently, a little each time. Initially, I'd die, but as years progressed, I would be able to leave. One dream had me wheeling back outside in a wheelchair, in others I'm on crutches, but I am always greeted with a sunset peeking through an unexpected parting of the cloud cover; the stranger from the beginning of the dream still waiting for me next to his pick-up.
The last time I had this dream, everything started as it typically does. The drop off, the fence, the building, the foreboding … But as I walk in to the room with the red haired giant, and he gestures towards the contraption and the rocks; instead of climbing up and being strapped in, I tell him, "I'm not going to do this anymore." Much to my surprise, that was OK. I walk out of the building; same sunset, same stranger, but instead of me waking up, I get into the truck.
We drive along rolling hills as the sun sets, behind us, on a horrible past. He tells me he has plans for me. Detailing things that are best kept to myself, for now. But an immense feeling of joy, and sudden sexual attraction, floods me. I look at him as he looks over at me ... His hair is sandy blonde, streaks of grey, weathered skin of a middle aged man, and his eyes are closed. I can tell by the lack of roundness beneath those lids that he has no eyes at all. So, instead of recoiling, I'm left with the question of, and it's the only question, really ...
"How the Hell is this guy actually driving?