Bete Noire
Recently I dreamed of vampires. It's rare for the undead to visit in my dreams. In fact, it's only been within the past few years that the macabre actually moved from my waking fantasy life to the sleeping one. I use my subconscious zombie apocalypse scenarios to see who I should throw under the bus. It's a nice little crib sheet to have in case of doom. It's no surprise, though, that the majority of people I see on a day to day basis are apparently expendable.
The thing about the few zombie dreams I've had, they are so matter of fact. It's something I don't question, rather it's a puzzle I need to solve. So and so has just become infected, what can I do to keep their lumbering, festering self from infecting me and others around me? Should I build an enclosure from pieces of cubicle wall?
This vampire dream I had, phew, the horror surprised me. Vampires are always such pansies, with their romantic aspirations and questionable existential struggles. In fact, within my dreamscape there was a romance brewing. Not with me, I was an obstacle. I don't know how, but I knew I was in the way. What does that say about the way I view myself? Now for some reason the vampires were British. Not a John Statham British, more of an Eric Idle brit. Just thinking about it now, I can't imagine why I was so filled with potential terror. I don't think it ever really reached actual terror, just that adrenalized frustration of pursuit, knowing that physically I was just no match against the pair of blood suckers. They weren't after my blood. My blood's probably tainted at this point any way. They were after a ring I was wearing. I haven't worn a ring since, well, ever. So what this claptrap was doing wrapped around my finger is a mystery. Also a mystery is why I didn't just toss the damned thing. So there was a girl, who had nothing to do with me, she was merely the intended recipient of my ring, the one ring. To rule them all. Needless to say, I was caught eventually and instead of taking the ring from me, they just ripped my finger off. Boy that was interesting. Somewhere in there, my mind couldn't translate what it must feel like to have a finger just torn right off so I left my body. That's when I realized that for some reason I was British too.
And there you have it. My one nightly encounter with Nosferatu.
The thing about the few zombie dreams I've had, they are so matter of fact. It's something I don't question, rather it's a puzzle I need to solve. So and so has just become infected, what can I do to keep their lumbering, festering self from infecting me and others around me? Should I build an enclosure from pieces of cubicle wall?
This vampire dream I had, phew, the horror surprised me. Vampires are always such pansies, with their romantic aspirations and questionable existential struggles. In fact, within my dreamscape there was a romance brewing. Not with me, I was an obstacle. I don't know how, but I knew I was in the way. What does that say about the way I view myself? Now for some reason the vampires were British. Not a John Statham British, more of an Eric Idle brit. Just thinking about it now, I can't imagine why I was so filled with potential terror. I don't think it ever really reached actual terror, just that adrenalized frustration of pursuit, knowing that physically I was just no match against the pair of blood suckers. They weren't after my blood. My blood's probably tainted at this point any way. They were after a ring I was wearing. I haven't worn a ring since, well, ever. So what this claptrap was doing wrapped around my finger is a mystery. Also a mystery is why I didn't just toss the damned thing. So there was a girl, who had nothing to do with me, she was merely the intended recipient of my ring, the one ring. To rule them all. Needless to say, I was caught eventually and instead of taking the ring from me, they just ripped my finger off. Boy that was interesting. Somewhere in there, my mind couldn't translate what it must feel like to have a finger just torn right off so I left my body. That's when I realized that for some reason I was British too.
And there you have it. My one nightly encounter with Nosferatu.
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