This was a dream I had a few months ago. I'm living in some kind of dystopian future, following an apocalypse. I live in the ruins of an ancient city, the skyscrapers are bombed and crumbling, people are starving and the waterways are flowing with a black sludge, but I see people gather to draw and drink the slime, because they have no choice. Everything is grey and smokey, full of fog and grime. There's some kind of facist government that rules over everyone, a broken picture of the old regime, before the world died. Everyone suffers from a sickness that comes from the food and water, just eating means death. But there's one hope: a little boy who can somehow stop the disease, I don't know how, he has some kind of genetic immunity to the sickness; the people praise him as a god, there are pictures of him plastered on the walls, people sing songs about him. I walk up to this boy while no one is looking and I snap his neck, he dies instantly. I kill the last hope of the world, a child, no less. The rest of the dream plays out with me running from the facist overlords, and the dream starts to make no sense at that point. I run into an old bunker, and I listen to old personal recordings of the facist leader, who speaks some horrible truth, something about me being very important, being used as a puppet, but I don't know what he said. I'm at the lower levels of the bunker, and I know the Thought Police are above, I begin to walk up the stairs, like I'm ready to die, but I look up the staircase, and I see a bright, holy light. It's incredibly intense, it's blinding, but I keep moving toward it, I climb the stairs, I have to reach the light. That's when I woke up.