The dreams are gettin’
more vivid, so much so that I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep in a good day and
a half. Think I’m coming up on 36 hours that I been awake without nodding off.
If I didn’t feel like hell, I’d almost be proud.
Last dream I had
was a lot like the first I wrote about. That girl rushing at us and finding us
too late, but it goes on. Couldn’t wake myself up, and what I watched turns my
stomach. Watched those two guys attacking me, they threw me aside, at Windmill.
I saw myself collide with him, and it was
I had to stop.
Had to empty my stomach out. Curtis is getting me some water, hand on my
shoulder. I ain’t told him what was in that last dream just yet, but he seems
to get how fucked up it was.
I collided with
Windmill, and I guess the pressure of my weight made that wound on him just
burst. Bleeding, pulsing meat spilled out on the concrete. Windmill’s head
tossing, neighing so loud and high it sounded like a scream. Maybe I was the
one screaming. Then, the dream-me is struggling to get back up – I slip, I
grab. I was holding Windmill’s viscera in my hands, clawing at it blindly. Like
I was looking for a handhold.
Meanwhile, that
girl, she’s trying to take ‘em both on singlehanded. Curtis, he’s too busy with
his own two. One of them, they’ve got him in some kind of headlock. The other
one grabs his hands, twists one, and there’s a crack.
Then they go for
his eyes. Break his glasses against his nose, and that breaks too. Toss the
frames aside. Dig the thumbs in by the nail, puncturing them and there’s blood
just streaming down Curtis’s face.
That girl gasps
real loud, and I know it ain’t because of what’s happening to Curtis. It’s what’s
happening to her.
One of the men
she’s fighting has a knife, and he’s driven it right through her stomach. I don’t
just mean he’s stabbed her – it’s gone right through. I could see his hand,
holding the blade. It was sticking out her back.
Then those sharp
knife-fingers are wrapping around my chin from behind – the ‘real me’, the one
watching, and she’s jerking my face towards her and whispering. Telling me,
this is what I can expect. And I can prevent it, if only I had the power.
I think I must’ve
forced myself awake, then. But not before I got a glimpse of her face.
She was
beautiful. Had this glow that stays with me. And throughout all the chaos and
the blood and the gore, there she was, this vision of beauty and it was so
wrong it makes me sick.
I ain’t sure what I’ll
do if the things happening in my dream are what’s honestly coming, for us.
We haven't even met, and I'm dying in your dreams? That blows.
ReplyDeleteBlair, you're my favorite Hermaphrodite.
ReplyDelete