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September 2nd, 2010

Dexterish

     My dreams have been bloody. Perhaps I have been missing Dexter too much.

     My last dream (a couple of nights ago) was one of my "battle" dreams. I was dressed oddly—a tight shirt with puffy sleeves and a high collar above heavy, baggy pants— and I carried a saber. Walking down a narrow cobbled street surrounded by what I think may have been north-african or egyptian architecture, I was suddenly jumped by a man with two long knives. The knives were nearly short-swords, so long were they.

     He leapt at me without warning but seeing him from the corner of my eye, I fell flat and rolled. I rose quickly, drew my saber, and we faced off. Many heavy strokes later, which he fended off perfectly, I managed to slash him across his right thing. Thereafter, we exchanged cuts rather freely, I marking his chest and upper body with numerous gashes—he was quite literally soaked from chin to ankle in his blood. I was a bit better off in the exchange of cuts, but I remember that a cut across the back of both hands bled profusely and splattered blood on the pavement and my opponent with each swing of my blade.

     After a truly mind-numbing exchange in which I poked my enemy in the throat with my sword tip, not penetrating deeply, but obviously opening an artery, he turned and ran. I gave chase, but even in his state he outran me.

     It was then I looked down to see a cut across my lower abdomen, nearly in my groin, through which I could see a pink loop of gut protruding. The shock—I had not felt the blow—woke me. My stomach actually hurt me all day.

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