Rule 1: Never take the initiative in dreaming.
Rule 2: Don't let the dreamer realize it's a dream.
Rule Three…
I can't remember exactly, but there are so many broken rules like discount labels in a supermarket, who the hell has time to memorize them all?
But I made an exception tonight.
Song Heci knelt on the white carpet at the wedding venue, with one button on his suit broken open, his tie crooked to his collarbone, and tears pattering on the floor.
The bride in front of him was wearing a satin wedding dress, and flames shot up from under the skirt.
This was his dream. The last wedding before his fiancée died - the afternoon when she was buried in the fire. She was waiting for him in the church wearing a wedding dress, but he didn't catch up.
"Say it." I squatted next to him, "Say what you didn't say that day."
He raised his head, his face full of tears, his lips trembling fiercely: "I, I..."
"She can't hear." I glanced at the bride standing in front of the altar. Half of her wedding dress had been burned off, revealing the charred skin underneath, but there was still a smile on her face.
This is the most fucked up thing. She laughed until she died.
