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Red Winged Black Bird on a fence post in a field.

A Dream One Night

2004-06-02

Category: prose

I awoke this morning from a rather pleasant dream and decided to pass it on to you folks. Like most dreams, it's somewhat unrealistic and convoluted; try to keep up.


In the dream, Islamic extremists were regularly shooting at me. It went on for some time and was becoming a nuisance. My bulletproof jacket bills kept climbing. It seemed like every time we killed the offenders it would agitate another group to action. Finally, I caught one.

He was a scraggly little dude. His English was poor and he used mostly swear words. He fought and fought to get away till I pushed his head rather sharply against a wall. When he woke up he was hogtied and resting peacefully in the trunk of my car. Well, the trunk wasn't that peaceful; I was driving on a rural gravel road.

I stopped when I reached a small farm in an out of the way area. The farmer seemed to know me (it was a dream after all). We shook hands and he asked what he could do for me. I asked if he still had that old boar.

Growing up on farms, a kid usually hears all sorts of tales about mean pigs. The old timers tell the stories to scare the children. Usually the stories fall into two categories, angry giant sows that'll rip your leg off or humongous boars that'll eat anything and anyone. That's what I looked for, the old boar.

The farmer (no name) told me the boar was in the old barn out back. He also said he didn't want to see any part of what I had planned. That was ok by me.

My terrorist friend squirmed the best he could as I dragged him to a weathered, gray plank fence. I hefted him up to stand against the boards and then tied him snugly. He could easily see over the fence. The sun had just gone down so he couldn't see too much. That was ok.

"So, are you going to tell me where you people keep coming from?" I asked with a gentle fist to the ribs.

He responded in a language I didn't understand. There were a few words like "son of a whore," and "death to" somebody or other. It didn't matter. I had my answer.

I reached down and removed his right shoe. I then placed his naked foot through a hole in the fence and tied it in place. "What are you doing?" Sure, now he speaks English.

"I'm convincing you to tell me where I can find your friends."

In the twilight I could see his eyes were wide. I walked around the corner of the fence and to the side of the barn. Reaching over the planks I flipped the latch and slid the barn door open. I'm not sure what Squirmy was saying but it sounded prayer-like.

The bag of feed sat next to the five gallon plastic bucket. I poured half a bucket full and carried it back to my buddy. "So, remember where your friends are yet?"

"You can do nothing to me. You are nothing." He seemed nervous.

I lifted the bucket to the top of the fence and poured the feed in a pile below his toes. Most of it went on the pile. His protruding foot kept plenty. I banged the bucket on the fence. "Come on Ol' Jake, feeding time."

Deep grunting came from the barn.

Prayer started up beside me again. I interrupted it. "You know, you probably can't get into Paradise if you're unclean. How unclean do you think you'll be when Jake has had his fill?"

Ol' Jake lumbered out of the barn. He was gargantuan for a pig. Even clipped, his tusks reached wide out of either side of his mouth. He dripped drool like a dozen Saint Bernards. The pig headed strait for the feed. He sniffed around the pile and then his snout moved up to the meat.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me something?"

He looked over the fence to watch his little piggies go to Hell.


The scene changed. It was still the same time of early evening but I was driving in my car. I had the image of my victim tied firmly and gagged inside the galvanized hog feeder. He wasn't in the part where they actually eat. He was tied higher up where he could watch them eat.


The next scene (remember, this was a dream) put me outside an apartment in some sort of larger city. I looked down the sights of a .380 Colt and toward a small explosive device in the apartment. Toe-Boy's friends conversed with each other while making more explosive things. The little explosive device at which I aimed sat atop many unstable ingredients. I fired.


The second to last scene (thanks for sticking with it) put me at a press conference. The liberal press was very upset about my handling of the matter. I made a speech to address their concerns. "First, the Geneva Convention applies to prisoners of war. Since I do not represent any particular military organization and the persons I harmed also do not belong to a military organization, we could not have been at war. The Geneva Convention does not apply.

"Further more, since I am not a law enforcement officer of any type and the bad guys were not in the custody of law enforcement, they had no rights to speak of. They were, however, engaged in criminal activities. Those activities posed an immediate threat to others and myself. That makes this a self-defense issue. Given the nature of the threat and the odds against me, I do not believe anyone could claim I used excessive force. Any one having any further complaint is invited to picket outside my apartment."


Final scene. I walk past the protesters in front of my apartment building. As I step through the door, there is another terrorist attack against me. It's a drive-by shooting with several automatic weapons. They mow down the picketers.


Yep, that was my dream. I hope you liked it. I enjoyed it though I probably would have enjoyed a naughty dream even more. Oh well, maybe next time.


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