(I had this dream awhile ago, so some of the details are lost).
After losing a sports game, a kid was in the locker room alone with the coach. The kid was dressed in a Boy Scout uniform. The coach yelled at him and blamed him for everything.
Suddenly, I was in the locker room, too, and we were discussing a plan. The kid began yelling back at the coach, and explaining with very intelligent vocabulary what the problem was with the game, and with our plan, and what we needed to do to fix it.
It made perfect sense, and I agreed with the kid’s suggestions. The coach, however, did not. He lost it, shouted some line, like “fix this!” and stabbed the boy in the gut with a large knife.
The kid was in shock and pain, and sunk to the floor, dying.
The coach offered me the knife and wanted me to stab the kid. I refused. He said we had to pull out his organs, but I didn’t want to do it.
The coach got fed up and stabbed the kid again himself, gutted him, pulled out his entrails, and left him on the floor. The coach then exited the locker room.
I just stood there, looking at the kid in shock. Poor kid. He was a smart one. He could have helped us with our plan. Whatever the plan was. But mostly, he was a nice kid, who didn’t deserve to die for making a comment. A smart and true comment.
Now I knew, I had to watch what I said around the coach. He was like a mob boss. Piss him off, and you’re dead. I planned on calling the cops when I was in a safer place. But for now, I just stared sadly at the dead kid on the locker room floor.
Then I woke up.
Pennyless Writer 