We were in Iran, in a green valley surrounded by mountains. It was daytime, but overcast. Hundreds of people, spread out, for miles the valley was before us. Everyone was cheering as planes flew overhead, back and forth. In the distance, you could hear gunfire, bombs being dropped.
I was running through the grass, recognizing some of the people, people from high school, and every person I recognized loved war, lauded the first Gulf War, some had even gone on to the military. And they were all cheering. And hugging. And smacking each other on the back as the planes buzzed us in the valley.
And I was cheering too. I was excited, jumping, running, hugging. And as I smacked the back of one of my other jovial celebrants, I asked "so who's delivering the nuke?"
"US Army," he replied.
Then, suddenly an overhead view of a map and a missile falling straight for Tehran.
My alarm clock woke me at 4:10am with that entire scene to run over and over again in my head. I don't believe I've ever had a dream that could be called a premonition, but when they're as vivid and memorable as that one was, it rattles you.
I knew politically we would never drop a nuke on Tehran. But Israel would. And our involvement with Israel is so tight, who's to say we wouldn't deliver it and allow Israel to take credit?
Sorry. Overthinking. Hell of a thing to wake up to on inauguration day, huh?
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