Does it count as Kafka esque, if it actually features Franz Kafka?
Last night I had a dream about trying to save Kafka’s life. Only Kafka was a middle aged, prunish looking woman instead of a German man. There were about three or four of us living in a ramshackle Victorian house. I was puttering around downstairs, minding some business, when I heard from upstairs a commotion, and someone shouting “needles.” The shout evoked some sort of prescient memory (like in Dune, where the guy “remembers” events from the future (nerd alert!)) – everyone who lived in the house knew what that shout signified, and it meant that Franz Kafka was about to die.
“It’s inevitable!” shouted one of the others, a woman (Dora Diamant, perhaps?). The other two were a middle aged man and a teenage boy. Kafka hobbled down the stairs, dressed in school matron garb, blood pouring down the sides of her face. At some point, in spite of said inevitability, we decided it was our duty to put our best efforts into saving his / her life anyways, Kafka being such an important figure in history (dream Kafka also had political clout of a murky nature).
I had the only means of transport, so I loaded the bloodied Kafka into my trusty Toyota Corolla, and headed off towards Lawrence Memorial Hospital. Kafka was losing consciousness, and I had to work fast – I labored against time and history. As I drove, the streets shifted and changed positions. Upon approaching the hospital, the street would change and the car would end up driving in a different direction, or on the other side of town.
Frustrated, I turned the car around in a parking lot and, speeding, attempted to exit the wrong way. The headlight beams of a monstrous SUV were the last thing I saw before I awoke.
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