Dreams are strange things, are they not?
I awoke this morning with a bullet hole in my head. The wound almost certainly fatal. The world around me had an off-ness to it, as if I was watching a movie or playing a video game. My perception of this world shifted in a way that was dizzying, from the first person perspective, I could feel my blood and strength leaking from my body. I could see little from my slowly dying eyes though. My vision blurring around the edges and fading fast.
I saw a window, not unlike the windows on an airliner. Instead of clouds in the window, I could see trees passing by in an unending parade of green and brown. The world outside passing steadily by, uncaring.
Under this window was a rapidly spreading pool of what could only be blood. Blood that had began attracting a horde of buzzing insects. At the center of this pool of blood was what appeared to be a pitchfork. A pitchfork with a rather small head and a crooked handle. The tines of said fork were coated with an oily, caustic looking goo, such a deep red that it had a purplish hue to it. This goo dripped onto the floor in big drops, making light plopping sounds as it slowly added to gradually spreading pool.
From yet another perspective though, and I’m not entirely sure whose eyes I’m borrowing. I can see myself slowly fading out of existence, a slight smile on my lips and a hard look in my eyes. I feel a pang of regret. That feeling of “Fuck!! Not Again!!”
And then I was back in my slowly fading body. Feeling the pull of what’s beyond and fighting the urge to hold on. It was time to let go, I knew that, I’d been here before after all.
I saw the man walk forward. He was holstering a pistol and having a time of it. The rain suit he was wearing kept getting in the way. “rain suit?” I wondered, “why the fuck would he be wearing a rain suit on a train??” “TRAIN!!” I thought, almost yelled to myself. And then I remembered. Almost.
I saw the man draw a knife from beneath his rain coat. It had an 8” blade constructed from a steel that looked alive in a way. The handle made of what could only be bone, and human too if I had to guess. Likely carved by hand. And done so by the very hand holding it now. He took a few steps in the direction of my quickly dying body and suddenly I saw myself from his eyes.
I saw myself sitting, shackled next to the young boy next to me, slowly sinking into my seat.
I saw a boy of about 12 or maybe 13 shackled to a seat next to me. A tray of sorts at his feet, full of all manner of atrocities. It appeared to be a toilet tray, full of the day’s leavings and buzzing with flies. Green headed fuckers that looked like they were maybe just a little more than simple flies. On a mission they were, they worked together, clearly bent on completing the task at hand; then it dawned on me “They are the clean up crew….”
The boy had a massive wound in his throat. Tattered ribbons of skin and the wiry ends of torn muscles layer open in a bloody maw. His eyes glassed over with that freshly dead look of a catfish baking in the sun.
Disgusted to my very core, and dying fast, my dying eyes scanned the room. It came back to me then and I began to experience something odd.
I was having a memory, a memory inside of a dream. I remembered being shackled next to this boy. My own tray of filth clipped to the wall next to me. I remembered the feeling of disgust upon realizing that I would likely die lying next to my own shit, possibly face down in it.
I remembered the conversation then too. The boy telling me about his mother. She was the reason I was here after all. That much I knew.
He also told me something else, although not with words. It was his eyes. They told me that he was ready. He knew his time was up and it was up to me to see him into the clearing.
Not knowing what to do and still not entirely sure of where I was even, my eyes scanned the room. I saw it then and knew.
Luci was here too. It must have been his eyes I had borrowed. I saw his pitchfork suddenly appear under my seat like a carry on bag, tines gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.
Moving with all the quickness I could muster, I grabbed the fork and lunged towards the boy. My shackles were almost too short to complete my new task, almost.
The tines reached the spot just under his jawline and torn into the soft skin. Bright red blood erupted from the wound and the world around us shook slightly.
I saw the look in his eyes change. They became the eyes of the truly grateful. I saw a slight smile spread across his lips and I knew he had entered the clearing. Finally at peace.
Suddenly, there was an explosion that shook the world. I felt my head snap back and to the left and knew this experience was coming to an end. A pressure of sorts in my head was slowly letting go and I could feel the tug of the clearing.
I still retained enough awareness to feel the cold, steel edge of a knife blade press against the skin on my throat. The sharpness of a razor blade just where the hair of my red beard meets the smooth, soft, vulnerable skin at the ridge line created by my Adam’s apple. I could feel the warmth on my chest from the fresh sheets of blood soaking my chest as the skin parted ways. I could feel the power that has run through my veins slip slowly away.
It’s OK, really it is. I’ve been here before. And will soon be back again.
And as all dreams do, this one ended and I was back. El laying next to me, her warmth comforting me and reminding me that I was home. I could hear Doc getting restless, no doubt ready for the day’s adventures.
And I saw a pitchfork leaning in the corner where the log wall meets the chimney. It had a smaller than normal head and a crooked handle. Luci was still here too.
Hopeful that this dream was not one of those dreams I rose from bed and went out to find my devil and greet the day.
-Will