I did not write this, this was written by one of my friends for his english final and I liked it so much I wanted to post it.
Warning, there is some language and adult themes in here.
Meatloaf again. This is the third night in a row I will have to choke down this over-salted crap. Any chance I had of being sexually aroused this night was just killed deader than that dead cow sitting on my plate. My ill-fitting slacks are still cinched around my waste and squeezing my large intestine out of my anus. TGIF, I guess.
“Lucky left-overs, honey. I’ll pick up some better food when I go to the store tomorrow.”
Deborah always chirped that way on Friday nights. I had never in my 47 years of life seen someone more excited about an approaching weekend. She wasn’t this way before we were married. Maybe this is her way of telling me she has been waiting all week for some intimate time. Maybe she’s been fucking the mailman behind my back, and is celebrating another week of not getting caught. I can only pray. That would be the perfect thing to get her on. She can never harass me for killing the rosebush if she had to answer to adultery! Who am I kidding? At least the bush looked pretty naked, unlike me.
This is how I think when I pop six Tylenol and have a stomach-ache for the past four hours. Filling my body with over the counter meds after getting off of work was never a healthy habit, but neither is losing half your adult life in a mountain of cocaine and a pit of ill-gotten money. Besides, I don’t want to have a headache for my exciting night of sleeping through another AMC movie.
“Eat your food, Warrel. It’ll get cold if you sit there looking at it.”
Deborah chimes in again. So what if I want to just look at it!? Maybe it will turn into a live octopus and I can aggressively devour it like the man from Oldboy. Maybe it’s just Meatloaf and green beans, though. However, the bad feelings begin to wear off, and life is beautiful again.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I reply, “My mind was elsewhere. Mainly on shoveling snow tomorrow. We’re supposed to get six inches in one night! Doesn’t god know that married couples don’t want to be entombed in their suburban tuna cans for months of the year?”
Dinner moves by in a timely fashion. Anyone with a palette more sensitive than that of a prison inmate would choke at that three day-old meatloaf.
“You’re overworked, Warrel. I think we should just snuggle in bed with a movie tonight. How about that Lady Vengeance movie you have been raving about? I’ll go get the DVD now. We’ll leave tomorrow’s thoughts for tomorrow.”
Great, I get to spend the next three hours explaining Lady Vengeance to Deborah.
Movie time is over. Deborah is asleep at my side. I can feel her soft breath on my neck as I stare at the ceiling. It is a reassuring signal that I am still alive, and still have people who love me. I kiss her forehead tenderly, and then fall asleep myself. I make sure to place my arm over her shoulder, so we awake in an embrace. Spontaneous acts of affection prove that even a smartass like me can still love.
The dream starts again. I look over the landscape, expecting to see some sort of variety or difference from the last visit. There is none, however. I walk around and embrace the lucidity of it all. Before me lies a vast, endless field of green pasture, almost serene…were it not a graveyard. I have come to recognize the various shapes and sizes of the monuments. The gigantic angel with the sword is my favorite, though every time I approach to read the name, I wake up.
I resist the urge to attempt reading the monument’s plaque, and instead let myself become more and more lost to the dream’s will. Letting go on reality, I feel myself “fall” completely into the abyss of my subconscious. I feel light, as if in flight. I feel pleasured; finally, I get something deserved. I can hear, though. I never hear in my dreams. There are voices. Many faint voices combine into one cacophony of eerily haunting tones. I smell liquor and blood. The sky is beginning to turn grey. What is happening? Suddenly, one voice rises above the rest, and speaks with an almost aggressive tone.
“Hello”
I awake in a cold sweat. That was my voice. Why am I visiting myself in my dreams? What time is it? 5:02Am. 502 is the police scanner code for drunk driving. Great, another thing to remind me of the past. I must be getting food poisoning from that meatloaf. It’s only a dream…
Blackness fills the dream this time. I cannot feel anything. Did I die in my sleep? I’m beginning to become scared now.
“Hello, me. Meet the real me.”
Who said that?
“We did”
Show yourself, whoever you are!
“Very well.”
The voice’s source steps from the blackness, revealing itself to me. I stare into that deep, familiar face. I stand like a statue, gazing into my own brown eyes.
‘Me’ speaks again.
“Are you surprised to be seeing me here? I know you are. Who knows you better than you, of course?”
I can only stare dumbfounded at myself. Why am I here talking to myself in my dreams? What kind of message can I possible have for myself?
“I know what you’re thinking. What kind of message can I possible have for myself? You’re boring, Warrel. I want things back to the way they used to be. Back before Deborah, before the white collar job. When you could wake up at 6 in the evening. When all the speed, coke, and booze made life a colorful blur of money and women. When it didn’t matter who you robbed or killed, because the mob had your back the whole time. Don’t you miss the good old days?”
Some Tylenol would really help right now. “No. I can never turn back to that lifestyle. I promised myself when I left Vegas that I would become a real man…not some drugged-up lunatic. That part of me is dead.”
“Is it? Explain why I am here right now. You know that your life right now is a living hell. Waking up at 5:30 every weekday morning. Working eight hours every day. The same boring house, the same boring wife, the same boring TV, the same boring sex. You want the excitement back. You want life back.”
I wake up. 10:30 Am. I look to my side to see that Deborah has gone to her Saturday job as a receptionist. She didn’t wake me early, so it must not have snowed the night before. Weathermen belong in jail. I look toward my night table to retrieve my glasses. I look back to the other side of my room and freeze. I’m there, in physical form; pure flesh and blood.
“Leave my house you thing!” I scream
“You can try to deny me and escape me. But I am you. I know everything you did. Everything you’re trying to deny is everything that I already know, so why deny it? Remember Linda? Beautiful until she met you.”
Linda was a Casino waitress. After a night of heavy drinking I convinced her to come with me to my “office” on the fourth level. After multiple attempts to have my way with her were rejected, she began screaming loudly for someone to help. You do stupid things when you’re drunk. I grabbed a silver statuette and bashed her pretty little face in with it until the sound and thrashing stopped. Lucky for me, Roscoe was a phone call away from coming in to the room and cleaning up the mess. Nobody asked questions. There weren’t even Police at the casino the next day.
“Lovely little life you stole. You want to see it again?”
My second self pulls the bloodied head of the former socialite from behind his back, and thrusts it into my lap. I scream in pure terror as the cracked, oozing eyes stare at me through a bloodied, misshapen face. I run for the downstairs, and fall into a deep ocean in my living room. Thousands of gallons of water are gushing through my house.
“Remember the man who you said talked too much? Daesu was his name I think. Asian man. He was going to tell your girlfriend Diana about how you tried to swindle him out of 10 grand. You beat him with a monkey wrench then threw him in a river with some concrete shoes. Remember?”
Looking down, I see the water turn red with blood, and a choking stench permeates my entire home. The soggy, bloated corpse of Daesu floats by me in the pool. It comes to life, attacking me with the force of multiple men. It begins clawing at my face and ripping apart my soft flesh with gnarled, misshapen hands. I scream in agony before blacking out. I awaken in the middle of my living room, the house is normal again.
I take a deep breath and look at the VCR’s clock. 12 noon. Deborah will be home in 5 hours. Thank god, I need her now more than ever. I need her to hold me, and let me forget about my past. I look over to the couch, and see me sitting there, legs crossed and fingers tented.
“You bastard!” I yell. “Leave me to myself and be gone from my conscious world!”
I respond. “I will not leave until I have my wish. I am tired of sitting on the sidelines while you waste your life away being a ‘good boy’ for the pigs in law and business. You cannot escape what you truly are. We will be joined as one personality again by the end of the night. I just need to remind you of how much fun we have together.”
In a blinding flash, my body is engulfed in flame. I feel my flesh immolating while visions of all my heinous acts play before my eyes. Murder, rape, extortion, human trafficking, robbery, burglary, drug use, drug selling. The visions are too great. Too vivid. My head swells with the feelings of blood vessels bursting in my brain and eyes. And then, silence.
I walk about staggering in a dream-like state. The other me is gone, and I only hear soft, gentle pulses of my heart beating in my ears. This is what it must be like to go insane. The clock reads 5:00pm. Deborah walks through my door. I’m so happy to see her.
Her body wasn’t difficult to bury. The Garden made a nice little grave, and recovering the mound of replaced dirt with snow made it seem as if no one was ever there. A beautiful little canvas to paint the world on. I have a headache now. I think I’ll take some Tylenol.
Warning, there is some language and adult themes in here.
Meatloaf again. This is the third night in a row I will have to choke down this over-salted crap. Any chance I had of being sexually aroused this night was just killed deader than that dead cow sitting on my plate. My ill-fitting slacks are still cinched around my waste and squeezing my large intestine out of my anus. TGIF, I guess.
“Lucky left-overs, honey. I’ll pick up some better food when I go to the store tomorrow.”
Deborah always chirped that way on Friday nights. I had never in my 47 years of life seen someone more excited about an approaching weekend. She wasn’t this way before we were married. Maybe this is her way of telling me she has been waiting all week for some intimate time. Maybe she’s been fucking the mailman behind my back, and is celebrating another week of not getting caught. I can only pray. That would be the perfect thing to get her on. She can never harass me for killing the rosebush if she had to answer to adultery! Who am I kidding? At least the bush looked pretty naked, unlike me.
This is how I think when I pop six Tylenol and have a stomach-ache for the past four hours. Filling my body with over the counter meds after getting off of work was never a healthy habit, but neither is losing half your adult life in a mountain of cocaine and a pit of ill-gotten money. Besides, I don’t want to have a headache for my exciting night of sleeping through another AMC movie.
“Eat your food, Warrel. It’ll get cold if you sit there looking at it.”
Deborah chimes in again. So what if I want to just look at it!? Maybe it will turn into a live octopus and I can aggressively devour it like the man from Oldboy. Maybe it’s just Meatloaf and green beans, though. However, the bad feelings begin to wear off, and life is beautiful again.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I reply, “My mind was elsewhere. Mainly on shoveling snow tomorrow. We’re supposed to get six inches in one night! Doesn’t god know that married couples don’t want to be entombed in their suburban tuna cans for months of the year?”
Dinner moves by in a timely fashion. Anyone with a palette more sensitive than that of a prison inmate would choke at that three day-old meatloaf.
“You’re overworked, Warrel. I think we should just snuggle in bed with a movie tonight. How about that Lady Vengeance movie you have been raving about? I’ll go get the DVD now. We’ll leave tomorrow’s thoughts for tomorrow.”
Great, I get to spend the next three hours explaining Lady Vengeance to Deborah.
Movie time is over. Deborah is asleep at my side. I can feel her soft breath on my neck as I stare at the ceiling. It is a reassuring signal that I am still alive, and still have people who love me. I kiss her forehead tenderly, and then fall asleep myself. I make sure to place my arm over her shoulder, so we awake in an embrace. Spontaneous acts of affection prove that even a smartass like me can still love.
The dream starts again. I look over the landscape, expecting to see some sort of variety or difference from the last visit. There is none, however. I walk around and embrace the lucidity of it all. Before me lies a vast, endless field of green pasture, almost serene…were it not a graveyard. I have come to recognize the various shapes and sizes of the monuments. The gigantic angel with the sword is my favorite, though every time I approach to read the name, I wake up.
I resist the urge to attempt reading the monument’s plaque, and instead let myself become more and more lost to the dream’s will. Letting go on reality, I feel myself “fall” completely into the abyss of my subconscious. I feel light, as if in flight. I feel pleasured; finally, I get something deserved. I can hear, though. I never hear in my dreams. There are voices. Many faint voices combine into one cacophony of eerily haunting tones. I smell liquor and blood. The sky is beginning to turn grey. What is happening? Suddenly, one voice rises above the rest, and speaks with an almost aggressive tone.
“Hello”
I awake in a cold sweat. That was my voice. Why am I visiting myself in my dreams? What time is it? 5:02Am. 502 is the police scanner code for drunk driving. Great, another thing to remind me of the past. I must be getting food poisoning from that meatloaf. It’s only a dream…
Blackness fills the dream this time. I cannot feel anything. Did I die in my sleep? I’m beginning to become scared now.
“Hello, me. Meet the real me.”
Who said that?
“We did”
Show yourself, whoever you are!
“Very well.”
The voice’s source steps from the blackness, revealing itself to me. I stare into that deep, familiar face. I stand like a statue, gazing into my own brown eyes.
‘Me’ speaks again.
“Are you surprised to be seeing me here? I know you are. Who knows you better than you, of course?”
I can only stare dumbfounded at myself. Why am I here talking to myself in my dreams? What kind of message can I possible have for myself?
“I know what you’re thinking. What kind of message can I possible have for myself? You’re boring, Warrel. I want things back to the way they used to be. Back before Deborah, before the white collar job. When you could wake up at 6 in the evening. When all the speed, coke, and booze made life a colorful blur of money and women. When it didn’t matter who you robbed or killed, because the mob had your back the whole time. Don’t you miss the good old days?”
Some Tylenol would really help right now. “No. I can never turn back to that lifestyle. I promised myself when I left Vegas that I would become a real man…not some drugged-up lunatic. That part of me is dead.”
“Is it? Explain why I am here right now. You know that your life right now is a living hell. Waking up at 5:30 every weekday morning. Working eight hours every day. The same boring house, the same boring wife, the same boring TV, the same boring sex. You want the excitement back. You want life back.”
I wake up. 10:30 Am. I look to my side to see that Deborah has gone to her Saturday job as a receptionist. She didn’t wake me early, so it must not have snowed the night before. Weathermen belong in jail. I look toward my night table to retrieve my glasses. I look back to the other side of my room and freeze. I’m there, in physical form; pure flesh and blood.
“Leave my house you thing!” I scream
“You can try to deny me and escape me. But I am you. I know everything you did. Everything you’re trying to deny is everything that I already know, so why deny it? Remember Linda? Beautiful until she met you.”
Linda was a Casino waitress. After a night of heavy drinking I convinced her to come with me to my “office” on the fourth level. After multiple attempts to have my way with her were rejected, she began screaming loudly for someone to help. You do stupid things when you’re drunk. I grabbed a silver statuette and bashed her pretty little face in with it until the sound and thrashing stopped. Lucky for me, Roscoe was a phone call away from coming in to the room and cleaning up the mess. Nobody asked questions. There weren’t even Police at the casino the next day.
“Lovely little life you stole. You want to see it again?”
My second self pulls the bloodied head of the former socialite from behind his back, and thrusts it into my lap. I scream in pure terror as the cracked, oozing eyes stare at me through a bloodied, misshapen face. I run for the downstairs, and fall into a deep ocean in my living room. Thousands of gallons of water are gushing through my house.
“Remember the man who you said talked too much? Daesu was his name I think. Asian man. He was going to tell your girlfriend Diana about how you tried to swindle him out of 10 grand. You beat him with a monkey wrench then threw him in a river with some concrete shoes. Remember?”
Looking down, I see the water turn red with blood, and a choking stench permeates my entire home. The soggy, bloated corpse of Daesu floats by me in the pool. It comes to life, attacking me with the force of multiple men. It begins clawing at my face and ripping apart my soft flesh with gnarled, misshapen hands. I scream in agony before blacking out. I awaken in the middle of my living room, the house is normal again.
I take a deep breath and look at the VCR’s clock. 12 noon. Deborah will be home in 5 hours. Thank god, I need her now more than ever. I need her to hold me, and let me forget about my past. I look over to the couch, and see me sitting there, legs crossed and fingers tented.
“You bastard!” I yell. “Leave me to myself and be gone from my conscious world!”
I respond. “I will not leave until I have my wish. I am tired of sitting on the sidelines while you waste your life away being a ‘good boy’ for the pigs in law and business. You cannot escape what you truly are. We will be joined as one personality again by the end of the night. I just need to remind you of how much fun we have together.”
In a blinding flash, my body is engulfed in flame. I feel my flesh immolating while visions of all my heinous acts play before my eyes. Murder, rape, extortion, human trafficking, robbery, burglary, drug use, drug selling. The visions are too great. Too vivid. My head swells with the feelings of blood vessels bursting in my brain and eyes. And then, silence.
I walk about staggering in a dream-like state. The other me is gone, and I only hear soft, gentle pulses of my heart beating in my ears. This is what it must be like to go insane. The clock reads 5:00pm. Deborah walks through my door. I’m so happy to see her.
Her body wasn’t difficult to bury. The Garden made a nice little grave, and recovering the mound of replaced dirt with snow made it seem as if no one was ever there. A beautiful little canvas to paint the world on. I have a headache now. I think I’ll take some Tylenol.
