Post Traumatic

“I had a really bad dream last night.”

“Oh no. What happened?”

“So I was at this veteran’s hospital listening to a couple guys talk about the war. And through some kind of dream logic I was suddenly transported into the war, and it’s happening in episodes like a demented game show.”

“Okay?”

“And all the soldiers are these anthropomorphic animals like out of Five Nights at Freddie’s.”

“Whaaat.”

“And there’s all these horrible things happening to them, and at the end they all jump through a window onto a trampoline.”

What.”

“And I go back to the hospital and I realize there’s only two of them there because the rest have killed themselves due to PTSD.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah it was bad.”

“You should write it.”

“No. Definitely not.”

“It sounds like something I’d write…”

“You have my permission.”

“I had a dream that I met Bob Dylan.”

“You dreamed that you met Bob Dylan.”

“Yeah.”

“Was he nice?”

“Oh, super nice. I was going to ask him for a photo but I figured that’d be lame.”

“Bob Dylan probably wouldn’t understand the concept of a selfie.”

“He probably would. He’s still alive.”

“Oh…”

 

 


 

 

Day 284’s three random writing prompt categories were, “Bob Dylan,” “Nonfiction,” and, “Dream world.”

A virtual transcript of my conversation with my girlfriend this morning. I really do want to write her demented carnival war story.

(Bob Dylan IS still alive, right?)

– H.

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