Woke up sweating.
Unable to resume my sleep in the air conditioned room in the dark of night.
The red lettered alarm clock displayed 5:10 AM.
Drifted back to sleep.
As if uninterpreted the nightmare continued.
The man smiled. A fake smile everyone took as totally believable. "Yes ma'am, you have a good day too." The salesman politely held the door ajar for the departing woman exiting the car dealership's show-room floor. He could not tear his eyes away from her gorgeous figure. The thirty something's naked calves beneath her black shirt reminded him of -
Instantly he felt nauseous. Instantly he wanted to cry. Instantly transported back in time twelve years before.
Everything blurred together. To that day he still could not recall exactly what had happened. Not to those around him at the time, not the Chaplain nor his psychiatrist of years in the hospital; he never even breathed a word to his civilian co-workers; not even Vets like him.
The .50 Cal Machine spun about in automatic rapid fire. The bullets came out in slow motion. They could not be stop. The rifle malfunctioned, frozen in play as its delayed descent to the ground continued. The woman's flesh reacted to each unforgiving bullet. She was in the shower tent. The soldier was bewildered to explain how he tripped while heading to turn in the weapon or even why it was able to be discharged or loaded while in camp. It did not matter in the instant the rounds were flying. The flesh was ripped apart in a horrible pattern. From face, shoulders, breast, abdomen, hips through shredded legs; the line of spinning fire was pin point accurate.
The soldier saw her naked form being discarded in a pit like some Nazi Camp Holocaust corps. Each bullet connected in a perforated line from head to toe in a dotted fashion as if to say tear here. The whole scene was surreal. The view was from inside the Shower Tent yet the soldier's mind whirled to recreate it. Her beauty was macabrely still intact amid the spurting holes of her tossed flesh. Specialist Sanchez. Rebecca Sanchez. Communications. He had seen her a few times around but did not know her personally. Nice enough in conversation with others as far as he could tell. They could have been friends or classmates but were just co-workers of no regard. She was dead. He killed her. It was deemed as accident. He was never the same. He vomited everyday. He could not look at women the same again after that.
"Great sale today Mark, way to close man!" His co-worker congratulated him as he still held the door open. He realized he had wet himself. He vomited out the opened door just as the customer drove off the lot.
It was just a nightmare I had.
Written best I could with the intent of not forgetting.
It should be forgotten.
I never experienced this nor heard of it from anyone, but in the dream it was real.
I didn't know her or him; nor they one another.
I woke up from a nightmare and could not go back to sleep.