The Hart Records: OFFICIAL DOCUMENTATION OF THE ██████ OUTBREAK TRANSCRIBED FROM THE JOURNALS OF ROWAN W. HART [1 of 3]

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Written Entry 01

This is my first time trying to make a dream journal thing, mostly because my psychiatrist said that I need to do this to relieve stress or something to that effect, so I’m just gonna write down what my dream was last night and hope that covers it. I may even start writing down other things in this; I’ve been meaning to start documenting my life in case someone ever finds it to be of any particular interest for whatever reason. Or if I need an alibi. You never know. And I know that my writing isn’t the best, but hey, there’s a reason I joined the military, and trust me, it’s not because I like getting up at 5 in the morning to drive an Escape to Davis-Monthan everyday. So the first thing is that I know beyond a shred of doubt that this dream was not mine. I know this for several reasons. A, in the dream I was white. Irish white. Burn with a flashlight white. I’m not white. Second, I was speaking German or Russian or something guttural. I know English and remedial Spanish, es irónico. Also, I have never in my life done anything even close to what happened in that dream. I have been in the military, but I have never been deployed anywhere like that. I was walking through some dense jungle—if I remember correctly it looked like it was somewhere in the ██████. He was wading through some waist-high water when he heard something up ahead and signaled for everyone to stop and be quiet. After that there was silence aside from the sounds you might expect from a jungle, and then, as he was turning around to give an order, an explosion goes off right in front of him. The explosion went off and they all immediately started looking around for any sign of the person who set off the explosive. Guns on guard and everything. There was silence for maybe thirty seconds before a boat came speeding out from behind some cover and opened fire on them. They were a squad of about eight guys, but four of them, not counting myself, were killed immediately by the gunfire. Whoever was behind him managed to stay calm enough to fire off some shots, which took down one of the guys on the boat, but he got mowed down before he could do anything else. I, or he, being the quick thinker whoever it was was, took a big-ass breath and dove under the water. I guess he thought it was a good idea until he remembered that the part he were in was just waist deep, and he subsequently hit his head on a rock that was right beside him. It hurt like hell, and I was fairly sure that he was gonna gasp and let the air out, but he managed to keep it in and get as low to the ground as he could. The boat apparently didn’t stop to check for any survivors, because it sped off after the first wave of bodies fell. He waited until the lungs started to burn before coming back up, and with a an almost desperate gasp of air, He got up. Everyone else was dead, and I think the guy that had been shot down from the boat was feebly trying to swim as his shoulder pumped out the remaining blood from his body. He stopped after a few minutes. And I have to say, the dream felt real up until that moment. I mean, as simple as it seems to realize you’re in a dream when you go back and think about it, everyone I’m sure can admit that their dreams feel pretty damn real while they’re in it. I mean, at first it felt so real. The water, the smell of blood, and everything else. But then it started to shift. To change. I can’t really put the exact feeling in words. He was standing in the water, uncomfortable and fairly panicked when I got that feeling and realized that suddenly I was in charge. I looked around to see if something was happening, but before I could take anything in, I got shot. No warning, no time to prepare, I just saw a man quite literally appear out of nowhere in front of me, pick me up by my neck, and shoot me twice in the head. I fell back. I should have be dead before I hit the water, but I was just floating there, watching as everything happened before me, no pain or blood or anything that one would normally associate with having been shot in the face. I’ve had this dream before, but it always goes the same way. He duck down and watches as everyone else around him gets cut down by gunfire. Then he would stand up and, after looking around for a few moments, go running off towards where he had come from. I know how this was supposed to happen, mostly because I keep having it. But this time it was different, incredibly different. I didn’t know why it went lucid, who that man was, or why he was wearing such unusual attire for the setting. I mean, are a blue jacket, jeans, and a sports cap really the smartest things to wear in a jungle? I have no idea why he was dressed like that. It was freezing at that time. And it was so dark, and then I don’t remember what happened after that, but I do remember waking up in probably the coldest sweat I’ve ever felt at around two in the morning. I really hate nightmares. But I can fix it in therapy. After all, that’s why they pay for me to go. I was told by Skylar that it might be good to add some humor into this, but I don’t see the benefit.


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