Dreams and Freud(2)

"He said dreams are wish fulfillment."The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, "But I think dreams are unfulfilled wishes.Those unfulfilled dreams are the ones that deserve to be taken away."

I look at him and an inexplicable chill rushes through me, but I don't resent it.There was a madness in his eyes, yet with an eerie calmness, as if he had seen the world through, yet was disdainful of it.

"Do you believe in fate?"He suddenly asked.

I shook my head, a joke, who would flat out believe that something called fate would arrange their lives.

"I don't believe in it either."He laughed, a hint of mockery in his smile, "Fate is an excuse for the weak.It is we who are the masters of our destiny."

We had a long conversation that night.He told me that he was an artist, but his canvas was not paper, but the world.His brush was not paint, but blood.

"Every drop of blood is a painting."He said, "Every kill, a creation."

I was creeped out by what I heard, but I couldn't look away.There was a kind of magic in his words, as if he could pull people into the abyss, yet make them sink willingly.

From that day on, I began to follow him.

The first time, he thought we were destined for each other.

"You studied law, just in time to be a lawyer for me."He said this with a teasing smile at the corner of his mouth, as if he were telling an unrelated joke.

I froze for a moment, a complicated feeling welling up in my heart.A student of the law was supposed to be a defender of justice, but he had gently pulled me into his world and made me his accomplice.But that's okay, the next second I put up a smile again, his hunch was accurate, and I didn't study law because I wanted to defend justice, I just wanted to see how reliable the words that define the crimes of mankind in three words really are. Since he wanted me to be his lawyer, it wasn't out of the question for him to take me along for the ride.

It was a dreary afternoon, the sky low and dark clouds weighing down the sky.He took me to a remote warehouse where the air smelled of rust and mold.In the corner of the warehouse lay a man with his hands and feet tied, a cloth stuffed in his mouth, and despair in his eyes.

"He owes me a debt."He said, in a tone so calm it sounded like he was talking about the weather, "But he can't pay it back."

I stood by, my heart racing and cold sweat seeping from my palms.I knew what was going to happen next, but I didn't stop it, didn't even speak up.

He walked up to the man, knelt down, and patted the other man's cheek gently, as if he were calming a frightened animal.

"Don't be afraid, it'll be over soon."He said, his voice so gentle it was creepy.

Then he stood up and pulled a dagger from his pocket, the blade glinting coldly in the dim light.

"You see, this is art."He turned his head and smiled at me, "Would you like to help me finish?"

I looked at him, my throat too tight to speak.

"You're studying law, right?"He continued, "You know how to make this look like an accident, right?"

I nodded, an inexplicable mixture of excitement and fear welling up inside me.

He smiled, grinning like a child, as if he'd just been given his favorite toy.

"Let's get started then."He said.

We spent hours that night cleaning up the scene, faking evidence, making it all look like an accident.I used my expertise to help him avoid all the legal loopholes.

From that day on, I became his accomplice.

He rarely talked about that incident, as if it was just an insignificant game.But every time he needed me, I was there, helping him with one "creation" after another.

At the academy, we walked side by side.Many people have kindly reminded me of his fearfulness. Some say his paintings are dark and grotesque, giving people palpitations; others say he has an obsession with death that goes beyond the ordinary.

But only I knew that he really did see death in his dreams.