Dreams and Freud(3)

He was already a psychology student, but he never gave up on art, and his room on the second floor was filled with so many of his paintings that every time I stayed at his house for the night, I needed to straighten them up before I could make up a bed.That's just the way he was, as long as he didn't use that room he would never organize it.I have also had the great honor of viewing many special works of art.

"Where do you get your inspiration?"I tried to appreciate the beauty of the paintings with my barren art cells.

Moral theories aside, the eerie harmony is beautiful.

"Dreams."He whispered, "Freud said, 'Unconscious emotions manifest themselves in dreams,' which are symbols of repressed desires, projections of our true selves.We are just beasts driven by instinct.Because society does not allow man to fulfill all his desires, we learn to repress our true self."

"The first time we met, you said we were destiny.Actually, no, you dreamed of me."My tone was sure and undeniable.

He was silent for a long time and spoke, "Yes, I always kill people in my dreams, I see you next to me all the time, and that day during my nap I dreamt that you were waiting for me at the bar."

He told me about his dreams, he had a lot of deaths in his dreams, he started having these dreams when he was thirteen years old, it was hard for him to kill the other person each time when he was young, and the first time he succeeded in killing someone in his dream, he was caught because he didn't know the law.Later he had become skilled enough to start realizing his dreams, after rehearsing them in his dreams he got used to the feeling of blood on his hands.

I whispered, "Sounds like paranoia."

He cocked his head at me with interest, "Can the law sanction a man who kills in his dreams?"

That night I had a dream that I was standing in front of a mirror that showed me sitting in a hallowed courtroom upholding justice, with him at the defense table and me as the attorney for the plaintiff's side, and there was no doubt that he was sentenced to death.As he brushed past me, he said, "I was right, you are the best lawyer."The mirror shatters violently and I see the man who was killed, the man who will be killed by me and him in the future, and I see the man on the ground, trying to sneak up on him from behind, and I lightly tsk-step on the man's hand, and often times I watch quietly from the shadows as the killing takes place.I made my choice and finally woke up to the man's screams.

After that day, I began to dream more often, the details of my dreams became clearer and more real, I really felt like I had killed a lot of people, the dreams felt real.

I began to wonder what I was really doing it for.Was it for his art?Or was it for the thrill of it?

Perhaps I was just escaping reality.

At this time he would comfort me with a few words, he was younger than me but much more mature than me in this respect.

Those who study law should be the embodiment of justice, but I have become an accomplice to evil, but I have no regrets.

Every time I see him wield his dagger, I think of the words, "I rise in the maelstrom of chaos like a black lotus blooming in the abyss, using destruction for sustenance and madness for glory."

He was indeed like a flower, a flower that blooms in the darkness, beautiful and deadly.

And I, who became his soil, nourished his madness.

Eventually, he was found out.

Not by the police, but by himself.

It was a rainy night, and we had finished a "creation" as usual.Just as we were about to leave, he suddenly stopped, his eyes becoming vacant and confused.

"I'm tired."He said softly, with a hint of fatigue in his voice.

I froze, an inexplicable fear welling up inside of me, paranoid and frantic in anticipation of every move, afraid that he wouldn't play without me.

"You said there are no innocent beings under the butcher's knife."I tried to comfort him with his words, "We're doing God's work for him."

He shook his head, a bitter smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps we are the innocent beings."He said, "We've been driven insane by the madness of this world."

From that day on, his state got worse and worse.He began to hallucinate, often talked to himself, and even forgot who he was at times.

I knew that he was at the end of his rope.

Eventually, he was admitted to a mental hospital.

As I sat in the hallway of the mental hospital, listening to the whispers coming from his room, a mixture of emotions welled up in me.Fear, sadness, and relief ... were so intertwined that I couldn't breathe.

"Are you okay?"The nurse came over and asked me softly.

I nodded, barely managing to squeeze out a smile.

"He talks about you a lot."The nurse said, "He said you were his only confidant."

I was silent for a moment, tears slipping silently down my face.

"I'm crazy too."I whispered.

The nurse froze for a moment, then gave a soft smile, and I knew she didn't understand what I meant by that, or maybe she hadn't thought about it.

"Maybe, we're all a little crazy."She said, "But it's how we deal with our craziness that matters."

I looked at her and a clarity that I had never known before came over me, waking up from a dream.

Yes, we're all crazy.

But so what?There are no wrongdoers under the butcher's knife, are there?

Dreams are just as important as Freud.

"The most important things in life are work and love, and for these two things we need to temper our desires."Sigmund Freud