my parachute dream...

i just remember this one, from a month or two ago. i don't think i wrote about it on here yet. i have fallen out of an airplane. i either don't have a parachute on, or it's not opening. either way, i'm toast. it feels so real. the air is rushing past my face. i see the ground, huge, giant, inescapable, thundering silently up towards me. closer. closer. i am full of fear. closer. a desperate hope thinks that maybe if i can roll out of it i might not die. but no, how can that be possible? i am fear. closer. closer. there is nothing to me but fear. closer. absolute terror. just a few feet away. this is the end...

nothing happens. i fall over on my side as if i had fallen from maybe a foot off the ground. like i stepped off a stool and tripped. i lay there. disbelief. a man approaches. he helps me up. i brush the dust off my pants. i feel, perhaps a slight bruise on my one leg, but that's about it. "are you alright?," he asks me. "yes, i think i'm fine," i reply. i'm shocked. as is he. he saw me fall. i felt me fall. neither one of us can believe i'm alive. "how are you not dead?" "i have no idea." "nothing is broken?" "no, i feel quite alright actually, just a minor bruise is all..." "i can't believe it." "perhaps i should go to the hospital, to get looked at, you know, just to be sure."

completely unharmed. i survived. the worst horror i could ever imagine, and all i got was dirty. live on i say. or, rather, live on it seems to say to me. the morning of this dream, i felt no fear. death to me was falling off a chair...