Drive me to Drinkin’… you know that phrase. I was just driven to Murder.
In a dream. That was nuts. That escalated very quickly. In the dream, I had entered a store. I had never been there. The store looked interesting, though I was escaping another group of friends whom I was trying to avoid. Only to be swept into another group of friends whom had wanted my attention. One guy in particular, of the store, had kept trying to give me a tour.
The store itself was as small as a large gas station. Like a curio shop. Interesting stuff everywhere, with shelves stacked six foot high in a candle-lit room. The tour assistant had only been doing his duty. He was commissioned for this guide-work and only wanted to do his job. However, I did not. I only wanted a peaceful experience.
I continually attempted to break from the tour. In which he continued to follow me. Instead of following, he began to press his body into mine, in a way of getting in my path. He then embraced me by a hug-type to hold me from escaping the store as I showed signs that I was leaving. I shoved him against the wall. Kicked him away. And ran for the door.
I made it out to the truck that I was driving. Dificult to get in, as dreams can be in a panic. I entered and as he ran up, there were two more with him. They swarmed the vehicle, attempting to hex the engine so that it would not start. It did not start with several attempts of the key, yet I could not hear over all the noise as to whether the vehicle ever started or not. I had earbuds in my ears for a podcast that I had been listening to & the clammering from them on top of the vehicle, beating on windows and windshield. The roof of the truck had already been beaten down enough that the glass was about to burst.
I got out the truck before the glass could burst.
I grabbed a 1″ diameter metal tube from the back of the truck. One of those sticks that I have used as practice, twirling the bostaff. I beat him senselessly across the head. Yet as dreams tend to be, the tube that I had grabbed — had actually been a very small tube, around 1/4″ in diameter. It did little to the guy.
“Russell, you know I can take abuse in the head”, were words that he said. He was truthful, somehow I had recalled from a previous dream that he had been wailed upon with much larger blunt weaponry in the skull and survived those attacks.
I swiftly plunged the tube into his throat. Blood spurted out. Red blood ran down the tube, through the tube. I stabbed it into his neck several times and then began to run away. I did not want to murder the boy and now he is dead. The witnesses were by now gone. Yet, now this kid had gotten me to murder him, he basically asked for it.
Dreams are so fun — aren’t they?
8:44 am, 2.15.2018, Thursday