My dreams are often bathed in blue.

They involve drug lords getting attacked my paper birds. The paper birds unfold a message which very often includes death in a gruesome fashion. Sometimes, they are a whirlwind train journey through many snapshots. The faces that flash are attached to bodies that aren't their own. They tell tales with not too much sound; tales that are far more interesting than their non-dream existence. 

They ripple along with the slightest sound and melt into completely different worlds. It's like seeing something through a coloured lens. It's like watching something thrilling, something that you want to be a part of so much, that it's frightening. 

The blue light fades away in the mornings taking with it the stories and the parallel lives. The things and the people pack up in loud silence, like the actors after a heart stopping play.