All the talk about the 'return' of the revenge fic season happened
to remind me of something I'd written, then stuck on a floppy and tried to
forget about.

	Looking back at it, I suppose that it counts as both a darkfic and
a revengefic, albeit a very strange one.

	I wrote this at a very low point in my life.. I think that those
of you who read it can guess exactly what point that was.

	I'm a extremely poor judge of my own writing, as I have a bad case
of 'Hitomi-itis' in it's most virulent form. So, since I can't judge this
dispassionately, I'm hoping that those of you who don't simply delete all
fics tagged as 'dark' unread can give me your opinions. 

	I'm sorry about some of the double postings, it's just that a few
of the people on my pre-reading list aren't on the mailing list, while
some are. (pine could stand having cut and paste abilities, I suppose)

	Guess that's all I have to say for now.

	I'm going to insert some spoiler space here, so folks who don't
want to read any further don't have to see any of the scene.

	The title? 

	"Just Another Dream."

	Thank you,

	Ed.

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   The mists drifting around me were what irked me the most.  I think I
could almost put up with what came next, if I could only SEE it coming.  But
that's part of it, I think.

   The young woman was the first.  She was always the first.  And in some
ways the worst.  She was smiling at me, holding her child to her breast.
Well, trying to, anyway.  It's hard to hold something to your breast when a
12.7 mm slug has torn most of your chest away.

   She'd thrown herself in front of the baby, trying to protect it.  Didn't
work, though.  The rounds from the old DShK 38/46 heavy machine gun simply
tore through them both.

   Then there was the young couple.  The girl supported her lover, since she
still had two legs.  He didn't.  When they ran from the gunfire, they
stumbled straight into a minefield and he'd stepped on a PMK-40
anti-personnel mine.  Small thing, really, designed to be a nuisance.  It
didn't kill immediately, it simply tore your foot off at the ankle.

   The rest of them came slowly towards me.  They didn't threaten me, didn't
attack.  They didn't even accuse me.  They simply smiled and waved (those
who still had arms, at least) as they passed by.

   Then it became more personal.

   It always hurt when it was James' turn.  He'd been the best friend I'd
had.  I never really even thought about his sexual orientation, you know.
As far as I was concerned, a person's sex life was their own affair, no pun
intended.

   That's why it hurt all the more when I got the letter, years later.
HIV-3.  Took him nearly three years before he found peace.

   The friends I'd lost on the military chartered flight that had augered in
over Gander Island, Canada.  Everyone was headed home for Christmas.

   Roddy, who'd put out a fuel depot fire by crashing a truck full of liquid
nitrogen into the center of the blaze.  He saved so many lives.  But not his
own.

   All the others.

   It'd be so much easier if they'd curse me, rail at me...  blame me.  But
they never do.

   I think that's part of the punishment.

   There's a new person in the procession.

   Ah, gods.  No.

   She's coming closer.

   She's stopped in front of me, but I can't face her.  I try to look away,
but I can feel her gentle hand, turning my head towards her.

   "It wasn't your fault, son."

   That's when I scream.

                                   * * *

   "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa...."

   Minerva entered the cabin at a dead run.  "BOSS!  What's the matter?!"

   Ed was sitting on the edge of his bunk, white and shaking.  He rose, and
splashed water on his face from the pitcher on the night table.

   "Nu..  Nothing.  Nothing's wrong, Min.  I think I had another dream."

   "What was it? It must have been pretty bad."

   "I wish I knew, Min.  I never can remember." He mopped at his face with a
towel, puzzled.  "Guess it was just another dream."