| April 7th, 2009 |
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I'm almost grateful to the person who fired up a very loud chainsaw (I think) outside my window at 7:30am. It pulled me from a dream which had become a nightmare I was desperately trying to scream myself awake from.
I was part of this secret agency thing, and I and a friend were out picking up a required item.
Except suddenly everyone around me was acting strange, intense. An old woman had me holding her purse. A massive black man was telling me about something that was going to happen, but I couldn't quite hear him, because people were talking, and then he hugged me and left the crowded room we were in. A pinch-faced blonde asked me what he was saying, and said I didn't know. And then I looked around and most of the people around me had no faces.
Amid a rising clamour of faceless people pressing closer I heard my friend say: I'm sorry, I gave you a bag that calls dead lovers who surround you and call you without faces.
I dropped the bag, but it didn't change anything. Suddenly, anyone who'd ever loved me, even a little, was there - except it wasn't really them, it was fragments of their minds and feelings in bodies that seemed real. And they were bitter like ghosts facing people who could have saved them from dying, because they were people whose lives I'd forgotten. All pressing in on me, hurting and bitter and angry because I hadn't loved them back enough.
I ran, but everywhere I went, I would find someone already there, filled with pain and rage. And I knew it was a dream and I was trying to wake up, trying to scream, to wake myself or get the attention of someone who could help.
And then I woke up to a chainsaw and blood on my face, because my nose was bleeding as I slept.
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