(no subject)
Does anyone else still remember all of the horrifying short stories we were forced to read in high school English? I do - The Lottery, most notably, and also The Monkey's Paw. These stories, rarely gory but still eerie enough to make me uncomfortable, play over and over in my head and in my dreams. It seems that every good story I read or watch unfold onto a screen only comes back to haunt me.
Last night I had a series of odd dreams, two of which I remember and both involving Bryce. The first involved Bryce's dog, "Gwyneth" Ophelia "Paltrow". We were sitting in my living room, peachy keen, everything completely normal - I am on one side of the room, and Bryce is on the other. For some reason (a bark, a jump, a repeated annoyance) he pulls a gun out of nowhere and shoots her in the side/back leg. I go into hysterics; he laughs hysterically. As I'm screaming "Why did you do that? She's going to die!", he continues to laugh and manages to get out "I just don't care". I kick him out of my house and try to tend to her wound, but I only have rubbing alcohol and cotton balls. So I'm swabbing this bullet wound and sobbing, all the while everything looks like David Lynch shot everything: sickening close-ups of the bullet wound, the flesh, my face, the room...and all the while, she's trying to play fetch even as she gets slower and slower.
The second involves my father. At the end of The Monkey's Paw, the distraught mother wishes to have her son back, as he has just died in a terrible machinery accident and granted the first wish, to be rich. Soon, footsteps are heard, and then a terrible series of pounding knocks as the suspense in the story climaxes and the son's corpse pleads for entry. I was in my room this time, talking to Bryce, when I hear footsteps outside my window. I look up in time to see brown leather and green hiking books under dark Wrangler's crunching through the leaves towards my back gate. I'm instantly terrified, because I know he shouldn't be here. Bryce asks, "What's wrong?" but I'm stuck, no words and no motion. I turn, swivel almost, towards my back door as the steps draw nearer. I'm wishing that this is all a dream, but I'm powerless...and curious. The door swings open and in walks my father, completely healthy and better than I remember. He's wearing a green shirt and his blue jean jacket, like always. He has the biggest smile on his face and starts walking near me, silent, with his arms out. I'm backing away, terrified, because I know he's dead.
Dreams make being awake intolerable.
Last night I had a series of odd dreams, two of which I remember and both involving Bryce. The first involved Bryce's dog, "Gwyneth" Ophelia "Paltrow". We were sitting in my living room, peachy keen, everything completely normal - I am on one side of the room, and Bryce is on the other. For some reason (a bark, a jump, a repeated annoyance) he pulls a gun out of nowhere and shoots her in the side/back leg. I go into hysterics; he laughs hysterically. As I'm screaming "Why did you do that? She's going to die!", he continues to laugh and manages to get out "I just don't care". I kick him out of my house and try to tend to her wound, but I only have rubbing alcohol and cotton balls. So I'm swabbing this bullet wound and sobbing, all the while everything looks like David Lynch shot everything: sickening close-ups of the bullet wound, the flesh, my face, the room...and all the while, she's trying to play fetch even as she gets slower and slower.
The second involves my father. At the end of The Monkey's Paw, the distraught mother wishes to have her son back, as he has just died in a terrible machinery accident and granted the first wish, to be rich. Soon, footsteps are heard, and then a terrible series of pounding knocks as the suspense in the story climaxes and the son's corpse pleads for entry. I was in my room this time, talking to Bryce, when I hear footsteps outside my window. I look up in time to see brown leather and green hiking books under dark Wrangler's crunching through the leaves towards my back gate. I'm instantly terrified, because I know he shouldn't be here. Bryce asks, "What's wrong?" but I'm stuck, no words and no motion. I turn, swivel almost, towards my back door as the steps draw nearer. I'm wishing that this is all a dream, but I'm powerless...and curious. The door swings open and in walks my father, completely healthy and better than I remember. He's wearing a green shirt and his blue jean jacket, like always. He has the biggest smile on his face and starts walking near me, silent, with his arms out. I'm backing away, terrified, because I know he's dead.
Dreams make being awake intolerable.