Last night I dreamt that a few old friends told me it had been decided by a collective that I was to be killed (sacrificed?) for some unspoken transgression. I accepted my fate, though after being stabbed multiple times in the stomach, and sitting with two of my friends on a long bench in some unrecognizable dystopian setting, I realized I wasn’t ready to die. I expressed this to them and they seemed relieved, as if I passed a test. They rushed me to a hospital, which was set up like a maze. Suddenly I was wandering around alone, clutching my gut, and when I finally found a doctor, she calmly told me I needed an organ transplant. She then walked me to a zip-line, the type you’d see set-up for tourists in a forest or jungle, that was to take me to the operating room...
