I kept dreaming about running him with a car. It was raining and his blue shirt was wet. I ran into him and he was soaked in blood. His blood mixed with the rain, now his shirt was not blue any longer. Soon I saw crows flying near and they fled over him, who was laying motionless on the pavement. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t shut my eyes either. All I could do was sat up straight behind the wheel, and watch the crows crowding above the boy’s dead body.

And then I would wake up with no sweat. I had this nightmare in a week now, and I hate to said that I was used to it. But I never got used the fact that it was always raining when I woke up from the dream. No matter whether it was on midnight or six in the morning. It was like I was awoken by the sound of rain drumming on the roof, thumping loudly above my head like a hundred pins falling down to punish me even more. Ironically I thanked the roof for protecting me.

I kept waiting for the time when he would fade away in the dream, like what films usually do. His body, turning into ashes and the crows would fled away because they found nothing to be pecked on. It was better like that. I knew I would be able to moved my body again and drove away from that road when he disappeared like that. Yet it wasn’t turned out like that. He was still there, with the crows, and I was still in my car, with my guilty feelings.

I hoped for the dreams to disappear one day, but that particular one day wouldn’t come any time soon. It would linger in me, until I eventually died and couldn’t think of any dream again.

However, I liked to sit down in my room, bundled with blanket, while it was raining outside. I didn’t care how contradict it was. The thumping sound the rain made was calming; it was steady and loud, louder than my heart beat. At time like that, I would be thinking about the dream, and wondering why I kept run into him with my car. I didn’t even own a car.

After three days, I thought that perhaps it was my karma for not tell him. Tell him that I like him to be one in my collections of head. I stared into my bookshelf which contained not only books, but also a series of human skull. I thought about how I wanted him to sat in there, with the other skull, stared into me with their hollow eye.

Perhaps I liked him too much. I liked him too much to left him alive and walking until this very day.

other by me

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