There is a girl in this dream that I knew was the love of my life, “Loml,” a combination of two people from the real world. There is an older man, “Red,” who is an inhabitant of her communal house. There is a bunch more before this part of the dream, but I can’t remember it well enough to piece it into the story. This was one of the most non-lucid dreams of my recent memory; it felt as real as I feel right now.
My bag is under the coffee table. We are sitting on a couch, and falling back in love. Her shirt is coming off, and we are entranced by one another. Suddenly Red enters the room and sits next to me on the couch. Loml and I roll and loll over to hide what is going on, and to cover up the fact that we are rolling over I reach for the water bottle in my bag that she can almost reach since she rolled over. I touch it to her hand, but she doesn’t receive it, and diminishes the effectiveness of the smooth playing-it-off. The she gets it, and takes it; drinks, and passes it to me.
I pour the water into my mouth, but before I have the chance to swallow Loml jumps up. She holds her heart, and her mouth is frozen open. Her cardiac and pulmonary systems have simultaneously and instantaneously stopped.
I realize what has happened. Red poisoned the water in my water bottle out of jealousy, out of spite. Loml is dead, lying on the carpet in front of me. There is absolutely nothing that I can do. I still have a mouthful of poison water. Do I spit it out, and live with this? Or should I swallow, and feel the momentary physical pain, then death? Which one would be worse? A lifetime of sorrow, but a lifetime nonetheless… or to just say goodbye to it all?
My survival instinct wins out. I open my mouth, and the poison water falls onto the carpet like vomit from my mouth. I am sobbing over her now.
Before I wake from the dream, a realization sweeps over me that it would have been almost impossible for Red to have slipped the poison into the water battle within the half second that he came before we rolled over and reached for it. I realize, in the surest terms of dream logic, that there is actually no way that he did it.
And then I woke, with the pain of losing her on my chest as real as it was in the dream, pain as real as anyone has ever felt. But now that I am awake and thinking about the dream, a seed of doubt has been planted by the water bottle. At the end of the dream I knew Red did not do it because of the design of the water bottle. Now I am left wondering, as such a murder mystery might leave one wondering, who did it?