CSI: David's Dreams
Kate, if you are still around, you might get a kick out of this.
I know that I am truly a fan of a television show if I dream of it. It has only happened a few times with some shows like Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Pretender,The Gilmore Girls, Saved by the Bell, and Friends. I must be big fan of CSI then because I had an interesting dream about it. I wouldn’t say it was a nightmare but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. But this dream felt like an entire episode of CSI and I was a part of it. Since it was a dream, I can’t recall everything about it, but as far as dreams go, this has remained pretty clear.
My memory of the dream starts towards the end of my episode. Grissom and I were in an apartment where the last of a series of murders took place. It was dark (like it always is). I remember that we were in front of a couch in the living room. To my back left, a door was ajar. So Grissom and I were discussing the reason why these murders were occurring.
Out of the blue, Grissom asked, “Do we like yachts?”
Taking note of how the question was asked and how Grissom usually goes with his questions, I responded, “I like yachts but I don’t know anything about them.”
“Would you appreciate [yachting] if I got you one as a present?”
Thinking that question was odder than the first, I still went along with, “Yes because it would hold sentimental value as you had given it to me,” and then it occurred to me, “and because it would drive me to learn how to sail.”
A smile formed on Grissom’s face and we came to the conclusion that the murderer was somehow trying to get a “student” to learn something that was only marginally connected to killing people. And I’m guessing that a yacht had something to do with it. So I was beginning to run through the list of suspects and was trying to figure out who this student might be before Grissom went ahead and told me. But I didn’t have to, for as I was thinking about it, Grissom’s eyes went past me to the door that was ajar. I followed his gaze and practically jumped out of my skin when I realized that an adult was watching us from the darkness. As the door was opened further and light revealed who this stranger was, it appeared that the murderer’s student was a young autistic man that lived next door.
The next thing I know, Grissom and I are confronted by the autistic man’s mother and she proceeds to attack us with a chef’s knife. I get stabbed in the chest. I don’t know what happens to Grissom but suddenly Brass shows up and he tries to fight her off. Brass manages to get stabbed as well. As I lay on the kitchen floor, the woman takes a pot of boiling water and dumps it on my face causing extensive burns that makes my face puff out. Shortly, she gets taken out but I am laying there. Brass recovers a bit and tells me that there’s nothing that they can do. He holds my hand as I die. Death comes like a click. Click—pain’s gone and there is nothing. Well not quite nothing because even after that click, I still felt my hand being held.
I woke up with my hand in between my mattress and the wall. (I don’t have a head board.)
I know that I am truly a fan of a television show if I dream of it. It has only happened a few times with some shows like Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Pretender,
My memory of the dream starts towards the end of my episode. Grissom and I were in an apartment where the last of a series of murders took place. It was dark (like it always is). I remember that we were in front of a couch in the living room. To my back left, a door was ajar. So Grissom and I were discussing the reason why these murders were occurring.
Out of the blue, Grissom asked, “Do we like yachts?”
Taking note of how the question was asked and how Grissom usually goes with his questions, I responded, “I like yachts but I don’t know anything about them.”
“Would you appreciate [yachting] if I got you one as a present?”
Thinking that question was odder than the first, I still went along with, “Yes because it would hold sentimental value as you had given it to me,” and then it occurred to me, “and because it would drive me to learn how to sail.”
A smile formed on Grissom’s face and we came to the conclusion that the murderer was somehow trying to get a “student” to learn something that was only marginally connected to killing people. And I’m guessing that a yacht had something to do with it. So I was beginning to run through the list of suspects and was trying to figure out who this student might be before Grissom went ahead and told me. But I didn’t have to, for as I was thinking about it, Grissom’s eyes went past me to the door that was ajar. I followed his gaze and practically jumped out of my skin when I realized that an adult was watching us from the darkness. As the door was opened further and light revealed who this stranger was, it appeared that the murderer’s student was a young autistic man that lived next door.
The next thing I know, Grissom and I are confronted by the autistic man’s mother and she proceeds to attack us with a chef’s knife. I get stabbed in the chest. I don’t know what happens to Grissom but suddenly Brass shows up and he tries to fight her off. Brass manages to get stabbed as well. As I lay on the kitchen floor, the woman takes a pot of boiling water and dumps it on my face causing extensive burns that makes my face puff out. Shortly, she gets taken out but I am laying there. Brass recovers a bit and tells me that there’s nothing that they can do. He holds my hand as I die. Death comes like a click. Click—pain’s gone and there is nothing. Well not quite nothing because even after that click, I still felt my hand being held.
I woke up with my hand in between my mattress and the wall. (I don’t have a head board.)
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