My sleeping habits have been all but regular lately. This morning, I woke at an unnecessary hour to the blaring of a hungry cat, so I stumbled downstairs and spooned some mash into his bowl. Crawling back into bed, I found I couldn’t go back to sleep right away. Through the fuzzy lens of my near-sightedness, I noticed a strange shape of light on my ceiling. The light from the street lamps, or possibly the moon, streamed in between my blinds in such a way as to project a kitchen-knife above my head. When I finally did get back to the business of sleeping, the knife of light had managed to work its way into my subconscious.
I dreamt that I was standing in a strange bedroom, chatting with two other people. One was one of my girl friends (though I don’t remember which one); the other was Max, a friend-of-a-friend. I was tidying up the dresser space, sorting gaudy jewelry and other items in front of a huge oval mirror trimmed in oak. The topic of conversation I don’t recall either. I did grow increasingly uncomfortable as the two continued to chat.
At one point, Max laughed at something I said; probably something naive or hopelessly dumb, as I am wont to do in waking life. Then he came up to me and, almost gently, held my face with his hands. “Hold still for a sec,” and he had the knife in his hands. He didn’t so much as slash my face, per se, but rather, swiftly traced quick lines up and down my cheeks.
As you can imagine, I was quite put off by this. I looked in the mirror and saw two deep, vertical red trenches cut into my face. Raised pinkling bumps surrounded the trenches on either side. I screamed, and he and the other companion laughed. “God, calm down a bit,” he said nonchalantly, as if I had been screaming about a paper cut.
“But my face!” I protested.
“It’ll heal,” he said. And, by the end of the dream, it did.
One Comment
quite bizarre, but what made it more so was when I read it the first time I read the word “chatting” as “chanting”.silly whole word reading skills
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