Des (deskitty) wrote,

Ravings of Some Guy on 12-Hour Sudafed

So... the Health Center has me on 12hr Sudafed for allergies (and to help my nose clear). I'm just supposed to take it at night, but I don't think I'll be doing that anymore...

I got very little sleep last night, and what sleep I did get mostly consisted of some very odd dreams.


First, I dreamt I was playing Tetris Attack (no surprise, considering how much my brain likes that game, and how much I was playing it last night). But the blocks were Lisp forms, and I had to macro-expand them by dropping other blocks into the right places, at which point the macro would expand and the blocks would flash and disappear.


The next dream that I remember was visiting my parents, working on the car (or something) in the front yard, when a giant explosion/fireball happened in my neighbor's house across the street. The shockwave from that was enough to push my Jeep (parked in the driveway, as usual) into a metal pole (that isn't there in real life) and mess up the front end. It caused a few other crashes on our street as well.

So the family stood around debating whether or not we should call 911. My mom kept saying things like, "Oh, it looks like the fire's out." ... but a few minutes later, I saw the telltale orange flickery glow. She didn't believe me even then, so I shrugged and said something like, "Nope, fine, I've made the decision. I'm calling 911." So I did, on my cell phone (why, when there was a landline right there?) and explained about this huge fireball. The lady on the other end sounded bored, and had some sort of speech disorder (I think it was apraxia). I didn't give her my address, but she knew where to send the firemen anyway.

So they came, and did some strange interpretive dance about how cool they were while they were working on the fire. The entire neighborhood came out to watch.

While the fire was being put out, there was this other old guy who came along (probably with the firemen). He had a blind dog, who had a really good sense of smell and could sniff out people. The old man (probably in his 60s or so -- still capable of moving pretty well, not going senile yet) was trying to find me and kill me. (Well, not me specifically, but "people like me", whatever that means.) So I hid in my parents' house (which had suddenly become much larger, with circa-1850s construction) for a few minutes.

I think I was in the cellar (which is odd, because my parents' house doesn't have a cellar) when the dog found me and started barking. I decided at that point I was sick of this running-away shit, so I grabbed a knife and waited.

He showed up shortly thereafter, with his gun drawn, and I pounced on him and overpowered him. I pricked his throat with the knife and demanded information. (I don't remember exactly what I asked, but I think it was something like "Why are you trying to kill all of us?".) He just laughed at me in that derisive way that bitter old people have, and tried to taunt me (but failed miserably). But I had disarmed him, so I couldn't in good conscience kill him. I was relieved about that. I let him go, and he left.

I wandered back into the kitchen, to see my family all watching TV (or more likely a movie) in the family room. I sat down at the table for some reason, but the old man came in again, this time with another gun. I ran at him, grabbed him, and manhandled [ha, I like that word :p] him onto the table. He kept a grip on his gun, though.

I asked him again what his problem was, but he just started spitting obscenities at me. I had his gun arm pinned to the table, but he was slowly working it free. I stared at him. Just as he was about to work his arm free, I swallowed, set myself, then swiped the knife through his head, killing him. I felt the blade slide through his flesh, and the resistance when it met (and pierced) bone, but I couldn't look at him.

I dropped the blade, and looked down. I remember thinking, "Good, I got his prefrontal lobe, he's dead for sure.".

My mom got up and strolled into the kitchen, looked at me pinning the dead guy on the table, and calmly remarked, "Make sure to clean that up.".


I wish I had more time. I could turn this into an actual story, rather than just a recounting of a dream. I think with some better-defined characters, and perhaps a bit more backstory on the old man (and why he was doing what he was doing), it would make a decent short story. The title "Ideas Kill" suggests itself, but I think there might be problems with that... don't know.

Anyway, it's 10:30. I've been goofing around long enough. Time to start getting work done.

-- Des
Tags: dream

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