What's to Come

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.