the fine art of slumber, part one

last night I had a nightmare that I drowned a friend. a nameless, faceless person yet somehow in that dreamstate knowledge far from a stranger. I was adrift in the middle of the sea in the black of night in a small dinghy, at the mercy of sickly churning raging storm-ravaged waves as they lifted me high above the starless night and crashing back down. everything was a deeply dark disturbing inky black surrounding me. the ocean and the night and the pounding rain blended together in the thickest nightmare black imaginable, no discerning the horizon or drowning clouds or stormdrop...each crashing sea peak just barely outlined by the white wash of the water as it tumbled in turmoil. I could see this person fighting the losing battle, soon only an outstretched hand remained grabbing at the unforgiving infinite black in the storm. even stranger yet throughout all this, my own voice calmly spoke in my head, narrating the scene in vivid drama. oddly I felt no regret or anguish over the fact I was responsible. The hand vanished into the depths, then the cauldron of tar water suddenly forcefully spit out their entire body launching it into the flooding air as it twisted in lifeless rag doll motion and plummeted back into the black, gone from sight and this mortal coil for good this time.