dream;
Police tape was scattered everywhere, the sharp, alarming sign of CAUTION written in clear, big lettering running across each and every strip. There was something in the darkness, something menacing and round and eerie. It was staring at him, and he found himself smiling, his eyes falling down to the gun in his hand as he let out a hollow laugh. Somewhere a woman screamed, and he found it thrilling to watch her squirm as he pushed her against a screen with a strange yellow and black stripe echoing along the glass. And then she was gone; he could see her lying in a crumbled heap through the TV's screen, and instead of helping her, he just backed up.
The fog was everywhere. The night had long since fallen, and it was raining. Children were in his dream, silver hair and glasses, short brown hair, long black hair-- they all melded into one and became a tall man, a man he knew as a friend. Dojima. He was a police officer, and the two walked together and worked together. He could feel himself talking, saying something silly-- was he acting? He felt like he didn't mean what he said.
The police tape slowly wound around Dojima and pulled him away, and Adachi frowned deeply. His hands were in handcuffs, and he was staring into a mirror that showed him another side of himself; it was evil, taunting and snide.
And he felt comforted.
The fog was everywhere. The night had long since fallen, and it was raining. Children were in his dream, silver hair and glasses, short brown hair, long black hair-- they all melded into one and became a tall man, a man he knew as a friend. Dojima. He was a police officer, and the two walked together and worked together. He could feel himself talking, saying something silly-- was he acting? He felt like he didn't mean what he said.
The police tape slowly wound around Dojima and pulled him away, and Adachi frowned deeply. His hands were in handcuffs, and he was staring into a mirror that showed him another side of himself; it was evil, taunting and snide.
And he felt comforted.