I just want to write tonight. I can’t sleep. Lord knows I have been doing a whole lot of that this week. I slept so much I found out that my kidneys are not working while I drink.
Yet…here I sit, awake at 3 a.m., drinking, anyway.
I ask myself, WHY?
I lay awake and ask myself, WHY?
I am probably even asking that question in my dreams even though all I can remember are the nightmares. Probably the reason is the only dreams I have are fucking nightmares.
The nightmares are not even frightening anymore because I am so used to them.
The day before yesterday and the night before that I had nightmares back-to-back-to-back-to-back….I only remember the last one because it involved my dog being killed. Because my beloved canine was the one who died, I can pretty much remember that dream from start to finish, and it went something like this:
For some unbeknownst reason to me, I was abducted by a biker gang. The gang was more of the “Hell’s Angels” variety, rather than the “scrapin’ the coast” kind and I was made to ride on the front of the leader of the gang’s bike. I suppose there were like five or six gang-banging, motorcycle-riding outlaws all clustered together riding their scary hogs down a one way highway to hell. I don’t know why he made me ride in the front of his bike, instead of the back, where a normal motorcycle passenger would ride…maybe because he knew I had no fear of jumping off and he needed to make sure I didn’t do anything like that.
I didn’t know where the hideous gang of outlaws were taking me, but I assumed it included a place where my imminent death would occur. It was overcast and grey outside, but it’s overcast and grey in all of my dreams. I’ve only seen the sun in my sleep one time, and that happened a few nightmares before the one I speak of now.
We rode for a bit and the gang pulled over and that’s when I saw these giant concrete pilings that I knew lead to some kind of Niagra Falls kind of water/death below, but I couldn’t see the water.
There were about six shafts enclosed by these pilings which lead downward. Each of the shafts had a concrete covering that I was sure would disappear as soon as I disappeared. I remember looking down into them, knowing I was about to be pushed, and even in the dream, I remember feeling no fear, at all.
I wasn’t scared.
Just when I thought one of the big, burly, belligerent men were going to push me to my certain death, I heard the roar of another set of bikes coming toward us. When the new crew of bikers pulled up, one of them was a pretty hot chick who had a black poodle, who looked just like mine, sitting on her bike with her.
All of a sudden, I screamed for my dog, “RUFUS!”
The hot bitch looked behind her and there he was, hooked to a long red leash. I felt relieved for a moment. I figured since me and this hot bitch had identical dogs, we shared some sort of comraderie.
Not so much….
I went to reach for the leash which my precious poodle was chained to, while still on the bike, because that guy wouldn’t let me off, that was for sure, and just as soon as I grabbed his leash, one of the other bikers grabbed it from me and all of their engines began to roar.
The biker gang took off, and they were dragging my dog behind them.
This is the part of the dream where my fearlessness vanished. Those motherfuckers were dragging my dog. Rufus ran as fast and as hard as he could, at first, but then he just couldn’t keep up anymore and they started dragging him.
“NNNNOOOOOOOOO”, I screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”.
The bikers were not going to stop. I had no choice but to jump off of the bike. Foiling the main biker’s plan to make me ride in front, just to keep me there. It didn’t even take very long. We had just passed a huge intersection when I hit the pavement and rolled. I thought I would be dead or maimed, but no, I got up and started running in the direction of where we just came.
Just up ahead, sitting on another motorcycle, with yet another hot bitch I saw the face of a dog. A wave of relief flooded my body as I ran to my pup. However, when I got to him, his head and face completely changed and I realized the dog was not my dog, at all, but a grey and white Curr of some variety that I did not know.
The fear that I thought I had escaped returned with a demonic vengeance. I began to open my mouth to scream again, and was stopped short by this Mexican guy sitting on his motorcycle to my left.
The Mexican looked at me and said in a thick Mexican accent, “your dog just got hit man, here he is.”
I looked and the Mexican was no liar. There layed my Rufus, sprawled out on his back with all four of his legs splayed in the air, each going in a different direction. He wasn’t dead yet, his eyes were open and I could tell that he was cognizant of my arrival, but that was all.
I knew there was nothing I could do but tell him goodbye.
I screamed and I screamed and I screamed until I woke from my nightmare and I haven’t been back to sleep since. And like I said, that was the last nightmare of about seven I had already endured over the previous 30 hours.
Now I sit here and I sip on some beer because sleep I do fear and I know it is queer that I should drink beer. However, my dear, no matter which cupboard I peer, no magician is near that can make the vodka hid earlier “POOF” and appear. I know I should cheer at a coast which is clear of the the thing that is killing my organs and gears, instead I just hear only whispers of cravings scream in my ear and now that which is gone from my eye is one single tear.