Well, it's 4:30 in the morning and here I am awake...
Normally, this isn't a big deal, and far from abnormal for me. Even before my brain looked like it received an elective surgery makeover by a very demented Clive Barker wielding a straight razor, I've been plagued by insomnia since I was little. Nothing major. Insomnia is a very common thing for alot of people, and I've never had any ill effects from it except frequent fatigue in the beginning. After awhile, you get over even that. Nowadays, I usually manage anywhere between 3-5 hours of sleep, and I usually turn out fine.
However, after two days spent in a liquor fueled delirium, I would have figured that at least tonight, I'd be able to catch some decent sleep. Clearly, this is not the case... Why? The fucking nightmares...
They started in my early teens, maybe around 13 or 14 years of age. Now, a lot of people tell me that nightmares are not a big deal, and that everyone get's them from time to time. To those people, I say "Fuck You". Normal people don't have nightmares like these. Normal people don't wake up in a cold sweat from some weird brain activity during the REM cycle. Normal people don't dream about shit best viewed in a particularly disturbing exploitation film.
The dreams always come in two types: Shit that happened to me when I was a kid, or really fucking graphic scenarios that, as already stated, belong in an exploitation film. I'm going to share the one that I had tonight, which was a case of the latter. I'll not be sharing any of the former, as they occur much more rarely than the other, and because frankly, I'm not quite ready to publically discuss those particular nightmares just yet.
So, tonight's dream...
I find myself backstage at a very old fashioned style theatre, the type that they hold plays and the like at. Picture something very vaudevillian and very run down. There is an intense feeling of dread hanging over me, mixed with an odd feeling of longing. That's when a group of gentleman approach me, and tell me it's time. A large, rusty frame work for a medical gurney is wheeled next to me, and I lay down in it as they strap me into the restraints. Once I'm secure, they wheel me out onto stage.
The audience is dark, and I can't immediately make out anyone in the crowd. I know they are there, I simply cannot see them. Suddenly a spot light hits me, and the gurney is locked into an upright position. There is a moment of eternal silence, which is abrupty broken by the sound of a sharp, high creaking off to my right. I look over, and I see a man and a woman approaching me, both dressed in very clothing reminiscent of an old magician's act. They're faces are covered by a surgeon's mask and dark goggles. The female attendant is wheeling over a metal cart to me, which is the source of the horrible creaking. Once the cart reaches me, I see that upon it are a variety of rusted surgical tools and other menacing looking, sharp instruments.
The magician chooses a large scalpel from the cart, and stands infront of me, slightly off to the left. He turns to the audience, and reveals to them his selection; and as he does so, the lights in the theatre grow slightly brighter, so that I can now make out the crowd. From the neck down, they all appear to be normal people of different varieties. However, from the neck up, the entirety of all of their heads are covered with blood stained bandages, covering even the eyes. There is a silence from the audience, and the magician turns to me, and passes the scalpel infront of my face, allowing my gaze to linger on it.
Carefully, he uses the scalpel to cut my shirt off, revealing my chest and stomach, which is laced and criss-crossed with countless scars, stiches, and staples of various ages. Some of the newer wounds are still oozing blood. There is a low murmuring from the audience, a certain air of expectance issued with it. The magician replaces the scalpel and selects another instrument, this one a large, vicious looking hunting knife.
Slowly and methodically, he takes the knife and stabs me off to the side of my abdomen, and slices me wide open across the lowest point on my gut. The pain is bright and intense, but somehow, I remain completely aware of the events of each passing seconde. As the wound begins to gape open, some of my intestines start to peek out, and blood and gore begin to pour forth from the wound.
The magician replaces the knife and selects something that looks like a large hook, similar to a fishing gaff, and shoves it deep into my stomach. The pain increases a thousand fold, yet still, I am dreadfully aware of everything happening. It's almost as is the sheer agony is focusing and heightening my awareness. He feels around inside my guts with the gaff for a few moments, every minute movement bring a new wave of torment and nausea with it. Suddenly, he quickly jerks the gaff from my stomach, pulling with it a great length of my guts with it, haphazardly looped around or impaled upon the gaff. This causes the wound to gape even wider, spilling much of my entrails to the floor beneath me.
The magician removes my guts from the gaff with a gloved hand, and then replaces the instrument. He then proceeds to grab up a handful of my entrails from the floor, and brings them up to my face. For a moment, I simply believe that his intention is to show me what my insides look like, but then, he takes his free hand, and pinches down on my nose. In a matter of mere moments, my mouth opens wide to gasp for air, and it's then that he crams a fist full of my own entrails into my mouth. I immediately begin to vomit, a mixture of gore and puke erupting forth from my mouth like a geiser. This does not dissuade the magician, who simply picks up more of my entrails and shoves yet another fistful into my mouth, forcing me to eat both my own guts as well as the contents of my regurgitation. The audience stands, loudly cheering and applauding...
This is where I wake up, abruptly, covered in a cold sweat and panting for air.
So, yeah. That's why I'm awake.
In other news, looks like I'm not going to be eating sausage anytime soon...
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