Monday, November 07, 2005

Today, I woke from one nightmare into another.

It began with a dream that the state had placed me in an insane asylum. Although I felt that my cognition was sound, the doctors and orderlies behaved so strangely that I had no choice but to assume that I was indeed mentally ill and hadn't yet internalized the fact.

The dissonance of the situation disturbed me greatly. If I were as crazy as I seemed to be, how could I be sane enough to deduce my own madness? I fell into a morbid depression, which prompted the doctors to move me to "death row." They deemed me psychologically unfit - too mad for the real world - and therefore condemned me to death.

The orderlies moved me from my bedroom to a drab cell surrounded by bars. In the adjacent cells, I could see the huddled figures of other condemned men and women, weeping, swaying, screaming, cursing at no one in particular.

Suddenly, a siren pierced the air. A hundred heads turned in unison. A red light at one end of the corridor flashed on and off. Every cell swung open - except my own. The prisoners ran from their cages, leaving me to bash my fists on the steel bars in vain. I screamed and flung myself to the floor.

I am in my own bed.

But the sirens remain. How now? The police? No; I've heard this noise before. My memory churns back to a streaked, monochrome duck-and-cover film from the Cold War, the lowing air-raid siren, the crackling soundtrack, kids with their heads under their desks, smiling as their bodies fritter to oblivion. I imagine World War Three.

I can see the headlines now. Two Thousand Missourians Slain in Monday's Bombing. So Long Screwy, See You In Saint Louie.

I'm being silly, I think. But what if I'm not. I call a few friends. No one picks up. I look out the window. Not a person in sight. It's War of the Worlds all over again.

If the world's going to end, I'm going to eat junk food, I say to myself. So I do. I eat an entire box of pocky without any guilt whatsoever. I haven't felt this free since childhood. Even if I don't die, I'll need the energy to flee the city.

I'm considering whether or not whacking-off one last time would anger god when the phone rings.

Turns out University City was just testing its tornado siren.

shiny objects