The Confessions of Robert T. Odeman - July 17th, 1938

Entry 3:

I woke up in the middle of the night again, Muli. I'd been having another nightmare: the pain in my hand seems to cause many of those these days. It was a horrible dream, Muli, but not from the start.

It's beautiful, Martin -- right to the core. As the dream begins, a scene fades in and somehow I know; I know it's a dream.

And so, there I sat, on a bench carved from wood -- one that seems so familiar. You stand behind, slightly to the right, as I get ready to begin.

I look up into your calm features; you nod briefly, and I begin to play.

But, soon as my fingers reach the keys, the content environment of the dream fades -- and with it, comes a darker one.

Your spirit swirls around me before disappearing into thin air. Then pain in my hand become unbearable then, and 'tis it that causes my thoughts to wander back to that day. Just before everything turns dark, I wake from said dream, and find myself elsewhere --but that one-- this one, can be nothing but reality.





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