So I had a nightmare last night. It was a long one, and a doozy. I’m still trying to shake the effects of it off, and it’s been like six hours since I woke up with my heart racing, jaw clenched, and covered in sweat.
I was with a group of friends at some hotel. We weren’t supposed to be there, but that was cool. We were well dressed and pretending to be affluent. There was some kind of function going on, and we made ourselves part of the group. You know, talking it up with the big whigs, eating hor’ devoures off of silver platters, drnking champagne and other fine spirits. Everything was going well.
So what’s so scary about this you ask? Is it because you are afraid of everything being right in life for once, or what? Well, if you’ll just be patient, I will get to the scary part.
I saw one of my friends, a girl, head off with a skeezy looking dude. It was obvious that he didn’t belong there any more than we did, but he wasn’t even making an attempt to fit it. We were dressed in nice clothes, suits, ties, dresses, belts, and shiny shoes. He was wearing a wife beater and a trucker hat. I couldn’t even fathom how he had been allowed into a place like this wearing that getup. And he had on cut off blue jean shorts. Like I said, a real skeeze.
Wanting to check on my friend (did I mention she was young, like 15 or 16 years old–hey I said this was a nightmare, and reality has no place in dreams anyway) I made my way after them and into the corridoor. The damn thing was no ordinary coridoor, it just went on and on forever. Or at least it seemed that way. Finally I made it to the room I had seen them enter, and knocking lightly I opened the door.
They were having sex. I did not want to see that, so I turned around and left.
Things get hazy for a bit, but the next scene in the dream is me hitting the dude with a golf club. My attacks are viscious and surely meant to break his skull open. The only thing, though, is that my strikes did nothing to phase him. I couldn’t get any strength behind my swings, and the club was rubbery (like the fake baseball bats they use in Professional Wrestling) and bendy.
The dude just kept laughing at me. Then he said something like “Look Allison Nicole, we didn’t do anything wrong. It was consensual. Why are you so mad?”
I threw the club to the ground and yelled “She’s sixteen. It’s statuatory rape, and you don’t care about her.”
He laughed again and said, “Look, she said it was okay, so I took her. And I’m glad I did. Do you know why?” And here he leaned in close to me. If you can smell in dreams I’m sure I would have been able to smell his rotten milk breath (he would just have to have breath that smelled like rotten milk) “Because better I get her cherry than someone else. And besides, she’s so prudish now that no one is going to get a taste of that for a long time.” He smiled and laughed some more.
I lunged at him, flailing my fists, smashing them into his face, and trying to use my long, well manicured nails to claw his eyes out. Again, my attacks were futile and worthless. No matter what I did, how hard I tried, how much I screamed and wanted to hurt him, I could not. I was completely helpess and useless.
That was when I woke up, covered in sweat, jaw clenched, heart pounding.