Chapter 13 the dream

Generally speaking, I don't remember the dreams I have.As soon as the day comes, the scene in the dream is left behind, and the image becomes hazy.But why was the dream last December, as clear as a laser beam, deeply imprinted in my memory?Maybe people will have this unreasonable phenomenon in a coma.Because since the patient cannot return to real life, the dream is no longer a kind of entertainment that is easily dissipated, but will pile up layer by layer, forming a long series of illusory dreams, as if extracted from a long serial novel.A chapter from a novel came to mind tonight. In my dream, snowflakes were falling in large flakes.My best friend Bernard and I walked shivering through a car graveyard covered in thirty centimeters of snow.In the past three days, Bernard and I have been trying to find a way to return to France, because there is a general strike in France at this time, and the whole country is paralyzed.We were staying in a winter sports camp in Italy, but Bernard discovered that there was a small winding railway leading to Nice, but there was a group of strikers blocking our way at the border, forcing us to get off and killing us Wearing only ordinary shoes and thin shirts in spring and autumn, he was shivering in the severe cold.Looking around, I found that this place is so desolate.There is a viaduct passing over the car cemetery. It is said that all the cars in the cemetery fell from the road at a height of 50 meters and piled up here one by one.We had an appointment with a very powerful Italian businessman who had his corporate headquarters under the piers of this bridge, far away from prying eyes.We saw a yellow iron door with a sign on it saying: "Electric Shock Death" and a picture of what to do in case of electric shock.We knocked and the door opened.The entrance door looked like a stock room in a garment factory: coats hung on racks, stacks of trousers, boxes of clothes piled up to the ceiling.I saw a man in training uniform, holding a submachine gun in his hand, welcoming us from the side.His disheveled hair seems to be the three-headed dog "Cerberus" guarding the gate of hell.He is the former Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic. "My comrade has trouble breathing," Bernard told him.Karadzic performed my tracheostomy from just around the corner of the desk, and we descended a grand glass staircase to the basement.The furs of beasts hung on the walls of the basement, and beside a deep sofa chair, a soft light made the room look a bit like a nightclub.Bernard was busy discussing matters with the person in charge of this place, who was the doppelganger of Fiat boss Umberto Agnelli.A maid with a Lebanese accent came over and asked me to sit at the small bar.The cups and bottles on the bar are replaced by plastic tubes that hang from the ceiling, like an oxygen mask in a plane crash.The waiter motioned for me to bring a plastic cup to my mouth.I did.An amber liquid that tasted like ginger ale flowed into my mouth, and then a warm stream spread to my toes and hair.After a while, I want to stop, I don't want to drink, and I want to get off the high stool.However, I still gulped and poured it, and I couldn't help it at all.I gave the bartender a frantic wink, hoping to get his attention, but he just smiled mysteriously at me.All around me, all faces and voices were distorted.Bernard said something to me, but the sounds that came out of his mouth were so slow that I couldn't understand them at all.I sat on a high stool and listened to Ravel's "Bolero Road".They got me completely drunk.

After an eternity elapsed, I saw everyone panicked and ready to fight.The maid with the Lebanese accent carried me on her back and climbed the stairs. "We're leaving. The police are here." It was dark outside, the snow had died down, and the freezing wind was making it hard for me to breathe.Someone had set up a searchlight on the viaduct, its beams scanning back and forth among the wreckage of cars. "Surrender, you are surrounded!" the loudspeaker yelled.We managed to escape, but for me it was the beginning of a long wandering.In my dream, I wanted to escape so much, but as soon as I had a chance to escape, I would suddenly feel dizzy and unable to move a step.I am like a statue, like a mummy, like glass.If there is only a door between me and freedom, then I don't even have the strength to open the door.However, that's not my only concern.This secret organization is holding me hostage, and I worry that other friends will fall into the same trap.I tried to warn them in various ways, but my dream and reality were exactly the same.I couldn't even utter a word.