It came in flashes like the editing in movies that makes you think a revelation is at hand. Even in the dream, I remember being impressed by the bright, overexposed swirling camera work.
A sense of being held against my will, of feeling crowded all along, permeates. The man, tall and angular and severe faced, confronts me after a time. All sneers and jeers, he tells me I'll never be rid of him. He's putting his hands on me and breathing down my neck.
I look down to see the blade. I wonder if I'm strong enough to do it. I've heard the gristle of a man's throat is tough. I reach up and open a smiley face. It reaches from ear to ear. It grins and begins to cackle and blood slips from it's lips.
"That's not funny, missy!"
"No, it isn't. It never was."
I reach up one more time and drive the blade straight into his trachea. I feel it crunch and then pop. His head flips back. He's a pez dispenser. Candy and light spill out, lighting the darkness around me.
4 comments:
And why haven't you written a novel yet?
Aside from this being a genuinely disturbing dream it's awfully well written.
What do you think it means?
Because writing is hard work and I'm lazy and easily distracted. Dreams are easy...they write themselves.
What do YOU think it means?
I think it means you need to write a novel too!
But I understand the distraction thing...what was I saying again?
Uh... yeah. That's what I thought was gonna happen.
*leaving quietly now*
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