death by a silent mother and the wretched helicopter pilot

Date: 11/28/2017

i remember having a dream a good while back, probably a year or so ago, that really struck me with its intensity. the sky was overcast and the clouds had a bruised yellow hue. my mom, brother, and i were in a car, driving down a large highway along the coast, then across an overpass, and this is when my mom wordlessly took a sharp turn off of the overpass and sent us barreling towards the port yard below. both her and my brother were silent as i screamed and begged my mom to tell me why she’d done that. the scene cut before we hit the concrete. then i took on the POV of a man flying a helicopter. i got the keen sense that he was hopeless and about to fall to the sandy dunes of the beach below him. when the helicopter crashed, several others came and landed gracefully beside the dead man’s. they were japanese soldiers, speaking amongst themselves about how the man had been a traitor; they were satisfied with his death. i, an invisible observer, was startled by the soldiers’ smug gratification, as i’d sympathized with the helpless man who’d faced the same fatal, crashing fall i did.