I have a dream to share with you. I have to warn you: it’s scary. And disturbing. And sexy. Scarily weirdly sexy. We are about to enter into the Twilight Zone of my mind. You don’t have to go. You can turn back now. I won’t blame you. My blog is a no-holds-barred zone. That’s right, go on. Ok, see you later.
Now that they’re gone and you stuck around, all I have to say is: “MWAH HAH HAH HAAAAH! VELCOME – VEEEELLLCOOOOME TO MY MIIIIIIIND!!!”
[lights, camera… action]
I was in a bull ring of sorts. It was filled with dim gray light. The curved walls of the ring were slate gray and tall, with an audience seated at the top, looking down. They were a rough bunch.
I was scared, and trying to find a way out. Then the man who ran the “bullfight” opened a door, and a monstrous creature – part man, part black bull, partly mechanical – burst into the ring. Instantly, without a moment for me to run, it barrelled toward me, grabbed me in it hands and threw me across the ring. I hit the opposite wall hard and fell to the ground in pain, the breath knocked out of me, stunned. The creature was incredibly strong, all muscle and sheer power. It ran at me again, and with incredible rage, flung me again. This time, when I hit the ground, I felt something break, in my shoulder. Then I could hear D outside the ring. She was trying to get me out. But she couldn’t, and with the next violent attack I hit my head and sank into black unconsciousness.
When I came to, I was in a different place. I was tied up in an old fashioned, cushioned armchair in the foyer of an old Victorian house. I was being held captive by a man whose profession was to throw parties. The house, the armchair, everything here, had the feeling of being from a bygone era, but had fallen into disrepair and murky shadow.
My arms were tied straight down along the sides of the chair. I was dressed in something that wasn’t mine – a thin, silky nightdress, almost translucent, of slightly yellowish, antique white. The nightdress also seemed to be a ghost of a rich, grand era.
The man who had me captive was white, 5’11” or so, slightly heavyset, with dark hair, a short trimmed beard and mustache, with dark hair, dark eyes set in the shadow of his brow ridge – everything about him seemed brooding and dark. He never smiled. He was very good looking and full of bad intention.
He didn’t touch me. He left me there while he made arrangements for a party. The house began to fill up with partygoers, each one as serious and shady as the host. They spread throughout the house, engaged in god knows what in different rooms. Soon I found myself between two men, who had pulled straight-backed wooden chairs up against my armchair. I tried to get away but was tied too tightly. It seemed I couldn’t talk, either. The men laid their hands on me, which had the effect of calming my shaking down to the tension of anticipation. Each man held a small, sharp utility knife. I began to breathe fast. They each pressed a blade to my throat, and I arched in pain as the knife-tips cut in, just enough to make tiny slits. Before my blood could travel an inch they tilted my head back, put their mouths on my neck and started drawing the blood out.
I made a high noise, an airy gasp, and I suddenly felt as though a cool wind was blowing through my body, opening me up from the inside. Their hands flowed over me, and my body felt like it had taken on the nature of the fabric covering it – smooth, light and soft, almost glowing, as though infused with the dusty golden spirit of this ghostly place.
[insert Twilight Zone theme music here (with a little of Chuck’s porn-music improv thrown in)]
There was an epilogue of sorts. In the next dream, I was in a warehouse where Mexican migrant workers were stacking lumber. P and Rukan were in the adjoining room. Rukan was giving P a massage. P had filled the room with gifts for R (my kid); all these creatively-wrapped boxes and sparkly decorations were everywhere. It was R’s birthday. I laughed because sweet P had known we wouldn’t have prepared a proper party, and had taken the task on herself. There were three kinds of incredibly delicious chocolate cake. I took a plateful into the room where the lumber was, sat down alone, and ate cake. I had two drinks, both vodka and tonic, with sawdust mixed in. They coated my throat and mouth with soft wood dust.
[roll credits, except don’t show full names so that wackos can’t track us down]