I had a dream about shooting an elephant. The elephant did not stay the same size throughout the dream. It was not like Orwell's experience at all, aside from the fact that both experiences are fictional.
Orwell's widow was very insistent that the story was true. His biographer, one of whose names was Bernard (his first, I think), was very insistent that it was a fictional short story. I am inclined to agree with Bernard.
In any case, before I shot the elephant I was holding on to it by a chain, which, as the pachyderm fled from me, got magically longer until, at last, when the elephant was but a small object approaching the horizon, it pulled me. I followed along behind the elephant for a short period of time, until I stopped it and reined it in. That was relatively easy. I am not sure why the elephant had to perish.
I am not even sure if I actually shot it.
It was quite an impressive dream, but, as with most dreams, I have failed to maintain the vivid memory of it.
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