There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts broken by love,
but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream - whatever that dream might be.
Pearl S. Buck

Saturday, May 21


Last night I had a great dream that I was living in a city, nice apartment, eating big slabs of halibut, truly enjoying myself with my friends. I had decided that I needed to give something back. I heard about an expedition heading to another country, some where in Asia, to rescue a group of volunteers (which included an OLD friend of mine). They were working at a camp that took in orphans of war. When our group got there, we heard rumors the leaders of the camp had done a mass killing of all the volunteers through lethal injection (sort of a "Jim Jones/Guyana deal). We were all panicked and rushed to the site to see if anyone survived.

We walked into the main tented compound and the floor was made of sand/dirt. Around each person was a white rock wall, and they were laying one per area under a green canvas tarp, semi buried. They looked asleep and not dead. We found about 20 percent of them had survived the injection. I was one of the scouts heading out to find the still moving people. Upon finding one alive I was to arouse them and get them moving, walking, drinking water, etc.

I came across my friend, who had survived. I was overjoyed to see her. (It has been years since we have seen each other.) She was relaying all the facts of what happened. The people who had held her were obsessed with obtaining a certain amount of orphans by a certain time and when that number wasn't met, they killed all the volunteers, mass hysteria style.

I don't remember feeling overly upset or overwhelmed by the amount of corpses in this tent. I was more thankful that we were finding people that had survived, and grateful for each one that I could help with rising up and walking around. And for seeing my long lost friend.

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