[ WP ] Every night for the last five years you dream a man named Clyde shoots you . Tonight the doorbell rings and Officer Clyde is at the door .

The man has a gun. Just like the last 1800 times. Every time I do something different to change the outcome, but he always shoots me in the end. 
 
 Such is fate. 
 
 I wish he'd stop haunting me. But once again, tonight this faceless man with a nametag that says Clyde is the first thing I see before the gun. That tool of destruction differs on every occasion. Sometimes it is black and big, like something Harry Callahan might wield in an action flick, while other times it is silver and small. However, it always kills me. 
 
 I remember every incident, and the sense of helpless panic I felt before I died. Then death comes, sometimes swift, and sometimes long and drawn out, alone, in the dark, and without aid. Clyde always stands over me after he unloads his gun into me, but I never see his face, or anything other than his gun and his nametag. I am at the end of my witts tonight -- for there he is. 
 
 Tonight I do something different. I stand up straight and look him in the idea and speak. I've never tried talking to the murderous appellation before, but since it is my dream I feel like I should have some control of the outcome. 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 He does not speak but lifts the gun. 
 
 `` You are a coward!'' 
 
 His finger tightens on the trigger. I brace myself for the inevitable. 
 
 `` You are not real.'' 
 
 Then like smoke he vanishes, and for the first time in nearly two thousand nights I live through the dream. I waken and no longer feel the anguish of dying in a dream, nor the helplessness of that struggle. 
 
 Then the doorbell rings, the dog barks, and I see red and blue lights flashing in the early morning darkness. 
 
 *'' Why would the police be here? `` * I said to myself. 
 
 I put on my bathrobe and slippers and go downstairs to answer the doorbell, which is ringing without pause. 
 
 I open the door and in it stands an officer with a large flashlight that could double as a nightstick. Several other officers are in the yard looking tense as if they are afraid of something. 
 
 The officer then grins pulls out his gun and shoots me with the shout, `` He has a gun!'' 
 
 As I tumble to the ground and the last thing I see is a badge that reads: *Sergeant Clyde*.
