It’s the first time I dreamed that I died.
There were men on a podium-like auditorium. One man was running for his death on several conditions: 1) he should kill the guy running towards him and bring him to a wall painted with a red silhouette of a lying man 2) after bringing the dead guy there, he would run from a long tank that could shoot him to death. He’d stop when he get through that stage.
I was just watching in the middle, alone. I didn’t even know why I was there, or what the hell they were doing. I was just watching.
Suddenly, a guy gave me a gun and said that I should run after my life. I ran inside the auditorium however, the same guy gave me a dynamite.
I held it onto my knees, then the guy suddenly said, “Picture!”
He took a picture of me holding that dynamite in my hands. I thought it was a joke, so I threw it to the floor.
There was a white light after. I felt heat and in my dream, I saw a silhouette of my body floating into ashes. Something inside of me said, “It’s warm.”
I was awaken by that feeling of nothingness inside that dream, and told everyone how I died and how death felt like.
Then, I really woke up.