Dream of: 03 January 2004 "Brain-Washed"
I was in the kitchen of the House in Patriot, talking with a man on a phone. He was selling some collectibles, among which was a metal Spiderman lunch box for which he only wanted $5. I wanted to buy it. However, we had a bad connection and I couldn't hear him well. I was listening to him for a while through an answering machine, but I finally picked up the phone. His voice kept coming and going. He said I could call his wife at another number, but I couldn't understand the information. His voice finally became so weak, I had to hang up.
I heard my father coming from the front living room. Since I had some of my things (mainly movie collectibles) spread out on the kitchen floor and the table, I began picking them up.
When my father walked into the adjoining room, we began talking (even though I didn't look at him because I was busily picking things up) about my mother, who was very ill. My father said he had been consulting some people about her and he had talked with one man who was some kind of doctor. My father liked the man, who had told my father something catastrophic would happen to my mother on December 3, at 1:00 p.m. Hardly able to believe what I had heard (it sounded to me like superstitious nonsense), I asked my father to repeat what he had said. When he did so, I told my father the man must be a "quack" if he had made such a prediction. My father immediately became angry and I realized I shouldn't have said anything. I tried to take back my words, but it was too late.
For the first time, I looked at my father. He looked to be in his mid 50s. He was dressed all in white in silky clothes which looked something like what an Indian from India might wear. His black hair was pulled back, perhaps in a pony tail. His whole bearing had radically changed. He seemed lethargic and distracted; he seemed to be losing his mind. I immediately concluded he had fallen in with some weird cult and been brain-washed. I was appalled – but I felt impotent, realizing I could do little to help him.
Just as I was about to carry my things into the front living room, seven or eight people came to the kitchen door and filed in. Immediately I could tell these were part of the cult my father had fallen into. They were dressed in ordinary clothes and all seemed to be in their late 30s. They made themselves at home in the kitchen and adjoining dining room. They paid me no mind. Some of my movie collectibles were still lying on the table. I thought they might see them and be interested, but they just pushed my things aside to make room for some things they were carrying.
I had never known of my father to participate in a group like this. I figured the group must go from house to house and talk with people. I definitely didn't care for them, but I saw nothing I could do now.
I walked into the front living room and set down the load I was carrying. As I sat on the gray-painted hardwood floor, I noticed some gray wires (something like telephone wires) lying near one wall. I tried to pick them up, but they seemed stuck. So I picked up a shovel sitting against a wall and chopped one wire in half. Immediately I knew I had made a mistake. I looked at the gray plastic wire and saw three metal wires inside: it was a cable wire. Now I recalled that my father had told me that he had recently had cable installed and that it had been very expensive.
Worse, as I looked at one of the three metal wires, it started smoking and melting. I worried I had created a fire hazard. What could I do? Could I find some kind of connector and reattach the wires I had severed? – I doubted it. But I had to do something – I couldn't leave the smoldering wire unattended in the room.
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