An Awful Truth

I'm going to state this, and you have to take it as truth. I can't prove it, you can't disprove it- it's just there.
I dream. Well, most people do. Can't say that I know how this works for others, but I can not remember one time in my entire life that I have had a dream that left me feeling happy when I woke up. No blissful nocturnal meanderings for me in the Land of Nod. My nights are violent, dark, catastrophic. One of the more recurring themes is driving, the headlights stop working, I can't see anymore but still I'm driving on, I don't know where I am and THINGS are jumping out at me from the side of the road. I'm barely missing them and I can't SEE. Thank goodness, most of my dreams are remembered only in bits and pieces the next day, leaving a vague shadow on the soul, a slight frown from some half imagined scene that retreats even further when chased.

Sometimes they come true.

Not often. Enough to be terrifying when they do. This started happening to me when I was 10 or 11. The first one I remember was over summer vacation, and one of my best friends was going away for most of it. I dreamed of her- she was riding a pony on one of those little carnival rides, where the ponies circled forever, tethered to their wheel. She had her hands over her ears, and was crying.
This bothered me all summer. When she came back, she had gotten her ears pierced and they were terribly infected. And her brother had fallen off a horse and broken his neck.

So...I have a need to treat these like you would a wish. If you tell, they won't come true.

Last night, I dreamed I was trying to pull something up a snowy, icy hill. An old veteran was helping me, his name was Chief, and I felt so bad that he was helping me because he was so frail. But I couldn't breathe, there was no air for me, but no, HE was the one who couldn't breathe, except he just stood there smiling at me.
That's it, that's all I can remember clearly. More than enough, thank you.

This morning, a friend of mine called me and asked if I could pick some things up from her house today. Her husband, who is in his mid-80's and a WWII veteran, is in the hospital. John, whose nickname is not Chief, is very frail, but always has a smile on his face. His blood pressure is very low, and they have found a spot on his lung.

If I tell, it won't come true.