Sunday, January 31, 2010

The old lady nightmare

Nightmare recounting for Saturday, January 30th.

I've been sick for about 3 weeks and haven't been drinking or anything else because I was experiencing phobia and became unable to differentiate between the effects of being under the influence and the symptoms of my headcold/inflammed/sinus infection/difficulty breathing. Also, I haven't taken melatonin for a few weeks, which I usually do nightly to increase REM and give me better rest. Last night I took 3mg melatonin with L-Theanine.

Setting: A city halfway composed of Portland and Anchorage in the Spring/Summertime. In the nightmare, there was this old, decrepit lady (I'm estimating between 85-95) I would visit and do favors for, like bring groceries, run errands, etc.. This old lady happened to be a butcher for some reason. Her apartment was located in the upstairs of an old building.. the bottom floor was her butcher shop/restaurant.

I was visiting with her and she said to me "You know how I'm always on the lookout for fresh meat.." I replied "yeah?". The next thing I know, I become dizzy and fall over unconscious. I awake groggy and standing upright, restrained at both wrists and ankles to a post or x-frame of sorts, similar to the S&M type. I am under the influence of some drug that has rendered my body paralyzed from the neck down so I can hear, speak and move my face, but nothing else. The woman has a tiny, teddy-bear style, black pomeranian that sits and watches me with rapt interest while all this is taking place. The old woman mumbles, telling me that she is going to cut me slowly, finally dismembering me and selling my meat and serving the meat to her customers, but first, she needs to remove my teeth. She produces a shiny metal, curved blade with a handle at both ends. It's essentially a U-shape with the middle curve utilized for cutting. I've seen similar tools used by clay sculptors to scoop out large, round sections of clay. She positions this tool under my top, frontmost teeth and applies leverage causing my front four teeth to break away in a soft, crumble as if they were made of wax. It happens so fast and seems so strange that it doesn't even hurt at first, but then a wave of the most intense pain I've ever felt washes over me along with copious amounts of blood, and I become enraged, crazed and nauseous at the same time.

The sudden and powerful rush of endorphins causes the paralytic effect of the drug to wear off at that instant, and though I'm still very weak, I grab her small, feeble, white haired head and twist it, using one hand under her fragile chin and grabbing a handful of waxy, white hair in a fist with the other. A dry, wrenching noise sounds, like someone noisily crunching a large piece of peanut brittle in a closed mouth... She makes a horrid broken up, keening moan and begins cursing me loudly, oaths of terrible violence and hate spewing from her mouth along with dentures and thick, clear, viscous saliva in shiny strings. Her speech devolves into garbled, screechy gibberish that is truly terrifying and I'm increasingly alarmed at her heightening, frenzied madness.

I feel weak and scared, and I think she'll grow stronger unless I finish her, so I slowly force my thumbs into her eyes, feeling them swell and pop, bluish gloppy slime, similar to her drool gushing out along with corded, grey fibrous tissue from the insides of her eyes.. all of it sloshes down my thumbs and her cheeks along with her impossibly bright blood. It looks like a colorful bit of Dale Chihuly glasswork creation that I might admire in a book or at a museum exhibit.

I feel my thumbs start to splinter and then pop through the delicate, eggshell-like layer of bone behind her eyes and into the warm, squirming brain beneath. The brain matter causes the skin of my thumbs to tingle and itch slightly.

Next, the scene just cuts to her apartment with blood everywhere. the dog is looking up at me as if nothing has happened. I fill his bowl with food, start to clean up and realize that no amount of cleaning will fix this. It was self defense, but who is going to possibly believe me? I decide to turn myself in. I go downstairs to exit through her butcher shop/restaurant and discover two patrons sitting at the counter waiting to be served.

One of the patrons is a woman who gapes at me in horror, and I look down and realize that my hands are covered with shiny blood and vitreous humour. The other patron, a man, is speaking in hushed tones to someone on a cellphone. "The police" I realize. I exit the building to a painfully bright, sunny day and this is when I wake up. It takes about 30 seconds of getting up, walking around before I realize that I don't have any reason to turn myself in because I haven't done anything after all.

1 comment:

unit-1978 said...

thats a great read man...real descriptive. Dude you could turn these into short stories or something.