My brain was tormented this evening past, with dreams that seemed to be in endless tumult. Bizarre and terrible, they screamed from my head and thrust me into a sick whirlwind from which escape seemed an unreachable platform of reality. This first dream however, decimated my subconscious and horrified me long after I had woken, the useless balm of the dreams that tailed it being of little comfort.
I play the observer in this dream and am immediately enthralled by a pair of boys and a girl swerving quickly into view in a green Jeep, deep in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It is clear they are running scared from a terrible fate that seems to be right on their heels. Dashing around tumble weeds and desert rock formations haphazardly, they stop briefly in a canyon. The girl is pleading with the boy and both are tearful. The boys begin to drive off, leaving her to watch them go, and she turns away from them to face me. Her eyes are so wide, and so blue, her chin is on its way up to a look of final defiance when she explodes as if atop a landmine. I am with the boys again now, and I learn from the passenger’s tearful reverie that the girl was his true love, that his father had opposed them and was their pursuer, and that she had sacrificed herself so that he could escape. I bent towards him from the abyss, “If he finds her, and she somehow survived, he will restore her life, and torture her for eternity,” I offer to the pair.
They panic, they know that I am right, and the driver becomes sick with grief. Turning around they make god time back to the sight of her demise. Her charred skeleton looks as if it was made of graphite, but it struggles to right itself, her life not yet rid of the physical realm. The boy who loves her is screaming in pain, he finds a large red rock and bashes in her head repeatedly. Her ashy arms come up in an attempt to protect the shell of skull left to her, but it is in vain. Brain matter flecks the sandstone about her and curling into the fetal position, she finally stops moving, her gaping mouth a perfect copy of the hole now present in the back of what is left of her head. The car has been idling, and they need to leave, with no time for further darkness of thought, they must turn themselves over to blind fear and push onward.
Grabbing two hover bikes from the back of the car, they continue quickly over the Horizon, spotted, but barely as they reach the apex of a nearby hill, by their heartless pursuer. In an ironically tragic turn of events the father catches up with them just as they reach a designated safe house, but before they can open the door.
In a rage, the father has misinterpreted the situation. With the girl dead, his sons true intentions must have been towards his close friend. To be homosexual was to be in league with satan, and he knew he had to turn against his child. Violently, he grabbed the other boy and snapped his neck in two. His son was shrieking, having reached a level of suffering no mortal should withstand, as his father finally rounded on him. He could no more articulate his love of the girl, than his innocent friendship cut so horribly short. His father asked, “do you know what an Adam and Eve knife’s purpose is?” The son could only stare back, numbed into shock as he was.
Taking a small triangle of sharp paper from his bag, the father threw it into the air. It sailed away from them, then tore back through the sky like a boomerang and severed the son’s scrotum. His physical pain overcame him and he was capable of sound once more. He wanted to pass out more than anything, but somehow was being forced to live this pain. His father grabbed him by the ankles, pressing his legs together, his delicate sex organs exposed, then with a cry, ate off his sons reproductive organs. Every year, crusty and disfigured, the father would bring his son back to this place, and cut at him with a knife, to remind him of his sins.