The place where the rockets land.

I have a fertile imagination and now seem to have a new-found clarity of dreams too. I thought I would write out some of those dreams. Not because I believe they have any hidden meaning but because it amazes me how the overactive human brain can make this stuff up just to entertain itself when it should be resting!

Last night's dream is thus:-

"I look out over the landscape to a beautiful distant bay on a warm summer’s day. I think, as I often do, how lucky I have been to be able to buy this particular apartment. Not only can I walk to be beach in 15 minutes but I can also see the place where the rockets land.

Even though I know one is due in any minute (there are two landings a day these days) it still makes me jump when the sonic boom announces the imminent arrival. I rush to the window just as the engines fire for the final approach. The rocket seems to defy physics, slowing from unbelievable speed to almost a hover as it reaches the landing pad. The landing struts extend at the last minute as if an afterthought. This part always makes my hair stand on end even though I've seen it hundreds of times now.

But something isn't quite right. I can’t define it but the approach speed looks a bit keen. As it touches down I can see a shudder go through it. One landing strut crumples and the rocket begins to fall. As it falls to the point of being almost horizontal I wince as I await the controlled detonation. The rocket's owners don't often have to do it but sometimes it is necessary when things don’t look like they are going to end well. There are no balconies on these apartments and the glass is bullet proof for this exact possibility. It will not be the first time I’ve seen them have to do it. The explosion will be eye-wateringly bright but I am transfixed.

The controlled detonation does not happen though. The engines are still active. I am now looking almost straight down the length of a rocket pointing in my direction. In the instant that it covers the distance to the apartment I realise with absolute clarity that bullet proof glass is not going to help me today! I throw myself under the kitchen table knowing that it will likely be the last thing I ever do.

The explosion is an astonishing assault on my senses. I feel the pressure wave hit my rib cage like a punch; the light is blinding and the sound leaves my ears ringing.

Somehow though, I have survived.

Every glass, cup and plate in the kitchen has shattered around me. My hair is full of soil from the plants that had been on the window sill. Dazed, I head out of the apartment and down the stairs into the lobby. I just want to get out of the building.

The lobby is packed with other people. I am surprised at how calm everyone is. It can't be all that bad if people are still ordering coffee from the little franchise in the corner.

I approach the counter to ask how they've been able to carry on regardless. Malcolm, the owner is not there and I don't recognise the woman behind the counter. There is something oddly familiar about her though. She freezes when she sees me.

'Blimey, that was close.' I say to her 'Malcolm must be having kittens!'

'W-w-what was close?' she stammers

'The rocket explosion? Surely you didn't miss it!?'

'That was ten years ago ...' she replies.

'That was the day Malcolm, my father, died and…’ she hesitates ’…so did most of his friends and customers.’

She hesitates again, visibly fearful of saying her next words.

‘Including you.' ”