• I only remember my ereyesterday’s dream. A bit weird.

    There was a war, against people past a hill. We fought with old muskets and knives. Sort of. Those muskets could be loaded 5 times in advance, and shoot 5 shots.
    I’ve enjoyed killing. It filled me with joy seeing a bullet go through someone’s head or chest. We ran out of bullets, I picked up another musket that still had 2. Went back to the hill, firing both shots. Then I again went down and picked a large cleaver. Ready to chop into any enemy at arm distance, I ran back.
    An enemy was at reach, when all of a sudden, the war has ended.
    I couldn’t get over it. My purpose was to kill, to slash, to shoot, now it was over. I had no purpose, all I ever could do was gone. No more killing.

    I don’t know what to make out of it.