I don’t fear a lot of things. I’m not a big fan of spiders, flying, or guns. Everything else I can get a pretty decent handle on, including, but not limited to tornadoes, punches to the face, etc. That said, it is now 1:20 a.m. on Monday morning and nine minutes ago I had the most vicious nightmare I’ve probably ever had. I’ve had your run of the mill nightmares before…monsters chasing you, can’t run fast enough, falling…but this one, this one shook me to the core. The weird part is that it was short and focused and unrelated to anything I was dreaming about in preceding dreams.
This next part is violently graphic in places. If you’re not prepared or undesirous of continuing, please wait for the next post…hopefully soon!
My acquaintance Scott (not related to any of the other Scotts in this blog) was driving a blue vehicle, seemingly an old Duster like the Paynes’ (who lived across the street when I was little) used to own. Anyway, he was driving this blue Duster up a cobblestone street, similar to Peterson Avenue where I lived, only I don’t think it was Peterson. Anyway, Scott is driving and my wife is in the front seat and I’m in the back. And as we’re driving up, a non-descript young white male whose face very much reminded me of the 1950s propaganda posters from Russia, or China…a very “worker of the world, Communism-lives” kind of character is strolling down the street in the opposite direction. He’s wearing a black pleather coat, shorter than a trenchcoat, but about thigh length. Anyway, he’s strolling along and as he’s passing the car on the driver’s side, he whips out a shotgun, pumping it once and blows a hole in the door/window and Scott. I saw the muzzle flash and I SWEAR I FELT the impact of the the explosion as Scott is blown across the bench seat and glass goes flying everywhere.
The next scene is me holding Scott’s head as he is bleeding all over the place, screaming at my wife to drive as she looks at me in horror, desperately searching for the gas pedal while non-descript worker dude starts following the car holding the shotgun. At that moment. I woke up. My pillow is wet with drool from screaming “Drive!” in that mostly asleep state where nothing comes out the way it’s supposed to and I’m sweating and shaking from the vivid imagery that has shaken me, LITERALLY shaken me awake.
I don’t know where that image came from, but I do hope it never comes back. I’ve fired a shotgun, once, and I understand it’s power. After I fired it, I knew I desired never to have to fire one again in my life. I just can’t imagine the images in this nightmare.
I’m sorry to have wakened you. I’m sorry I’m awake myself. But I had to tell somebody. I hope that I can go back to a normal night’s sleep now. You try and do the same.
See you in the funny papers!