(Dextromethorphan Dreams)
Wandering around an unfamiliar house, the only smell I could recognize was one of
filth. Animal waste littered the floor and stained the carpets,
claw marks and
matted fur scarring the
décor.
Walking to the kitchen, I could see a black
sheepdog, still young, but mad. His eyes rolled in their sockets, and he stumbled towards me, wishing me harm but not quite able to turn very well. As he fell on his side,
foam collected at the edges of his mouth, his chest rising and lowering. I looked into his eyes, and saw only
poison.
...
My
Jessica, my
darling Jessica is with me, and she smiles. Our foreheads touch momentarily, and there is a spark, not quite
electricity but of the same consistency. I laugh inside my head, and she smiles. I find myself thinking in questions, and her face is answering them.
Without words, we laugh, and share stories.
...
There are men in our room.
Workers of some kind, they force me out of bed and shove me, stumbling, into the hallway.
Pornographic posters belonging to Jessica and I line the halls and cover the floor, and as I try to clean them, Jes’ mother finds me.
She
screams at me, calling me a
dirty dirty boy, and taking me by the nape of the neck, shoves me down the stairs.
...
Again, Jessica. Again, purity.
Her skin is soft, and her mouth is warm on my skin, as she smiles,
bubbling laughter I can hear in my mind.
I close my eyes, and
surrender myself to her. It is only then that
alarm overcomes me, and I react too late to prevent sudden
weights and
restraints holding me down, masks preventing me from sight, or sound.
It is the laughter of friends I hear, as my lungs scream for
air and my thoughts turn grey.