When I was a kid I had a dream where I was living in a white big house by the beach. There was a man sitting next to me, we were drinking wine. Three kids were playing in front of us. It was happiness, or at least how my unconscious thought it was like. I woke up crying because I had woken up, and I wanted to stay in the dream. I was around seven, maybe seven and a half. After that the world seemed to change. I wanted to grow up so desperately, if only to have what I had in my dream, and keep it in reality.
That happened fourteen years ago.
Today— tonight, I’m standing in a room with dark walls, holding a gun in my hand, aiming to the head of a man tied up on a chair. He’s half conscious and has blood all over his suit. He looks charming in it, I must admit. But I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t know why I’m here. Something brought us together in this room; sadly it wasn’t in the event of a date or another romantic situation, or any kind of situation that didn’t involve one of us –him, in this case- getting shot to death.
Created: Jul 11, 2010Document Media