Bonus Blog: The Nightmare

For some reason--either (in hindsight) forgotten or never explained--I am kneeling on the sidewalk in a sketchy region of the city at night. The street I am on is no main thoroughfare, therefore is ill-lit. I am on my knees, rooting through my backpack.

Approaching me are two boys under the age of thirteen--hair buzzed short, the face of one clearly distinguishable but, even in waking, unfamiliar. They come nearer as I'm now no longer rifling through the backpack, just watching them and doing nothing.

When they are standing in front of me--all this time full only of silence--I make eye contact with the one, and give a little smile. He does not return the smile.

Swiftly reaching into a pocket, he withdraws a knife. My strangely realistic adrenaline rush gets my heart pumping. I am vividly experiencing this, as if awake. I keep eye contact, but make no move to surrender my backpack. After a few moments he sees I am not surrendering, just searching his eyes as he is searching mine.

Silently, deftly lunging towards my right upper arm, he plunges the knife in, to its handle. I cannot, in the dream, exactly feel the pain; what I experience is a strange swimming of the sight, deep and sharp inhalation, and the awareness of pain that I would feel were this real life.

I pull the knife from my arm, as the boys stand still there, not having made a move for my backpack yet. With a second's thought, I throw the knife back in their direction, instantly regretting it.

Too late.

The knife hits the boy's head, on his pate, near the back. It doesn't plunge in deeply, but sticks. Never before have I heard such an unholy, unearthly scream. He throws his head back and twists it around as though the joints in his neck are jelly. His eyes are flaming with rage, and rolling around as involuntarily and frighteningly slowly as his head. I am instantly put to mind of the Devil himself, and am struck with a rather real fear. Still, I don't move.


I wake up.