Last night I dreamed I was lost out in the country and I walked down this little dirt road that had "fool the eye" brickwork painted alongside the road. I came upon a house that had big rocks arranged at the peak of a small hill in the yard. I was admiring it when I accidentally knocked a rock loose and it rolled down the hill. I confess I kinda pushed it, but not with malicious intent, just curiosity, but as soon as it started rolling I felt the icey realization that I had just vandalized. A nice young black man named Dave picked the rock up to put it back. But I could tell it was way too heavy for one man, so I tried to help. But he ran up the hill with the rock, as if to show off his strength. He was kinda "slow" mentally.
Then the rock he had just replaced tumbled loose, along with ANOTHER rock, and they both rolled over Dave, crushing him. I ran over to try to help, but he was dead. The owner of the house ran out, all upset about his rocks. I said "CALL 911! CALL 911!" but all he cared about was his rocks.
When I turned around to look at Dave again, he was GONE! But there was a boy about 10 there. Then I saw another boy about 8. Then I excitedly tried to explain to the selfish homeowner the miracle of the 18 year old Dave that had split into two young boys.
Then I woke up and was convinced this dream was BRILLIANT and was surely the nucleus of a great and profound story.