The other night I had a dream. A nightmare really (though it wasn’t the typical clown one). In this dream I was traveling with some friends, going through a rather hostile country; one torn apart by war, government corruption, and and incessant desire to kill anyone who seemed like a threat. Apparently I seemed like a threat. For reasons unknown to me, I was arrested and sentenced to death by firing squad. Now, even though it was just a dream my emotions felt very real (even after I woke up) – I was perfectly alright with dying, but the knowledge that I was walking to my own death and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it was slightly frightening.
I’ve always been fine with the thought of death; I know that there is a point where everyone is going to die eventually, and I’m cool with that. I’m not afraid of death. But what is it about going to your death, not knowing why you’re dying (in the event of someone killing you), and being completely helpless? I don’t know.