despite a firm descision to dream about a bumper crop of soldiers, i instead dreamt about pipe tobbaco stained letters, soaked in tea to leave a brown colour in order to lend the air of antiquity to it. the letter talked about the dragon & the antichrist; the letter knew the future. i figured out that the numbers at the bottom of the letter, though static, were the ammount of time left until detonation, & ran. everyone else died in the blast- i only broke my ankle. the nearest hospital was a mental institution, though thanks to the hurricaine it was the only one availible & so the ambulance took me to it, light's spinning. i spent the rest of the dream tense, pointing a pistol at the doorway of my room while i laid on my cot, daring the murderer in dreams to walk through it. at some point i shot a girl in a promdress just to make sure i still could.