8/12/14
Note to the reader: Before I detail this dream I would like to set it up a little. I share the same mental condition that Robin Williams had. Ever since his deed, I have been bombarded with links to videos on how to live my life and various over things. The past two days I have felt more inhuman than I usually do due to people telling me how to be a proper human.
Another sleepless day has rolled by me. After spending another night covered in heat, but frozen to the bone; I decided to take a shower to attempt to level my body's humours. The water feels blissful on my flesh. I often wish I could live a life in the water. I open my eyes to see clumps of hair clogging the drain. Frantically, I touch my head to feel nothing; except skin. There is a giant mound of hair now in the shower. Frozen in horror I stare at my own hair. Sorrow nor anger has time to set in before I hear beating on the bathroom door.
A sea of people rip the door of its hinges and toss it aside. They quickly flood into my bathroom. Hiding behind the shower curtain I asked what they wanted. The crowd grabs and throws me out of the shower. I cower in fear of being lynched, but no more hands are placed on me. I open my eyes to see the people fighting over my hair. People are fighting and stuffing all the hair they can into Ziploc bags.
For some reason I feel relieved, so I proceed to dry off and walk to the sink. I gather my daily things out of the medicine cabinet and shut the door revealing a fog covered mirror. Slightly perturbed, I take my towel and clean the fog. My face is not my face, but it is my face because my consciousness resides behind. I see not my own face, but Robin Williams. I claw at it hoping it is some sort of prank, but I am now the owner of this face. But he's dead or am I dead? Are we dead? Did I die? Did he live? We no longer have any answers in this universe.
I try to find comfort in my towel, but I feel something metaphorically piercing my back. I turn to find that the hair has all been claimed. Some sit and count how many they got, some are hiding their stash away, some are selling what they obtained, and others are sharing. But there are still many people who got nothing, and those people are glaring at me. I manage to stagger through a joke to them opening to break the ice, but their glare is frozen deep. I ask politely if there is anything I can do for them, but the glare nor their silence is broken. I begin to feel cold again. Before I have time to process all these feelings, the crowd's motion catches my eye. They are all now holding razors and slowly approaching me.
