Dream Sequence

I had to close the door today to keep a rat from coming in.  It looked very ragged and tired and cold.  I threw a pair of shoes out the window too, because they were covered with slime.  My neighbor next door collects body parts, mostly internal organs.  He sometimes tosses them on the floor of my room when he gets the chance.  They are often covered with slime.  He threw a brain on my shoes in a slimy paper bag.  I did my best to stop him, but he threw it anyway, laughing, obviously in disbelief that it bothered me so much.

I fly to and from school every day.  I don’t take an airplane but I levitate.  It is a power which I have had since I was very small.

I got in trouble today at school because I refused to play the lead in The Music Man  if the director didn’t supply me with a script.  I told him that I knew most of the words and most of the lyrics but I didn’t know many of the actions.  I was very incensed at his refusal.

“I’m not going to do it without a script,” I said. “That’s all there is to it.  I don’t improvise.”

All hell broke loose after that.  Everybody went crazy.  Everybody seemed to be blaming me for some reason.  I thought I had been quite reasonable.  Pandemonium lasted until school let out.

I ran out into the street and found my friend.  She seemed to be trying to avoid me, but I softened her with a look that said it was just me.  Just me.  She came to me in the middle of the street, traffic moving by on both sides.  She put her arms around me and hugged me tight, and we began our familiar commute.

I often give her rides home.  It’s easier than walking, and … and to have her warmth close to me like that.  I would fly her to the moon if she asked.

I had to stop to write something down on the way home.  She had fallen asleep, lulled by the gentle ascent and descent of my flight.  There was a flat platform on the side of a building.  I paused to write “Tuesday: math homework” in my notebook.  Supporting her weight and trying to write was difficult.  I kept on floating away from the platform.

I dropped her off without waking her.  Outside my apartment a group of small boys played soccer.  I bared the point of my pen and whipped it at the ball.  I missed.  I held out my hand and flew the pen to it.  I missed again.  A third time I was successful.  The boys grimaced at me.  I laughed as the ball deflated.  The pen slapped my hand and I entered the apartment.  That was when my next door neighbor accosted me with brains.

The light is really dim now.  I have no electricity.  I sit on my bed and wait a while.

Published by David Hammond

David Hammond lives and dreams in Virginia with his wife, two daughters, one dog, three rats, and a multitude of insects. During the day, he makes websites. More of his writing can be found at oldshoepress.com.

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