Last night--or this morning, rather--I had a dream. This is the first dream that I've actually enjoyed in years. All I have are nightmares anymore.
What's funny to me is, this is probably most other people's idea of a nightmare, and here I woke up all pleased!
The dream began in the thick of it. I was some sort of knight, I believe. It was night, and I was part of a force assaulting some kind of fortress (mostly wooden, but some of the interior was perhaps stone, so maybe it was just a castle). One could only see from the fires that had broken out. The battle was coming to an end. The enemy had black surcoats. I don't know what color ours were.
I think it was late, date-wise (if dreams even have "dates"). I wore mostly plate armor, as did my foes (Gothic if I am not mistaken). I had picked up a great axe, or rather something of a halberd, also of a late look. In dreams, I am often slow and sluggish because my body is tired in the real world, and here it was quite annoying. But I was mad. Very, very mad. Enraged, perhaps.
I picked off the remaining knights and men-at-arms, one by one. I cut them to ribbons. I hacked arms off, cut open torsos, destroyed heads, limbs, and any bit of body I could find to maul. I cut so many down I don't even remember them all. I killed countless, slashing through them like so many clumps of butter. Like I said, I was angry. Most are a blur; I only really remember one in any detail. I'd hit him somehow, and he had fallen with his back to me, still in a sitting position of sorts. I brought my blade down on his shoulder, only a few inches away from his neck. His arm disappeared in an instant, and a red, ragged stump was all that remained. (Off topic: strangely I remember little blood.)
Once the "fortress" was taken, inside we discovered an inner chamber that held some of what we had come for. Here's where the dream became strange, k? Inside this chamber was a man, his wife, and his two small children, held prisoners (they were our friends somehow). Either this man, or I myself, was literally Beowulf! Here the dream took a "barbaric" turn (i.e., everyone looked like a barbarian or Viking, not like a member of the 1400's chivalry). (Also off-topic: large, spindly spiders scurried around the floor.)
The dream ended. We had won the battle, freed our friend, and I'd sent more of my enemies to hell than I even knew. Whether I was "Beowulf" or not matters little. For me, sometimes I wish things really were this simple. Instead of living life as it is today, I'd far prefer to have my troubles take the form of physical men, and then I could go and fight my enemies and kill them with a sharpened edge. Then at least I'd be done with my battles. Right?