Six months in…

This is a piece of fiction. I find it either amusing or frightening or both. Please understand that the vile opinions in the piece belong to the character, not to me. The character is meant to be deeply unpleasant.  

I know I’m dreaming, but it doesn’t help. I can’t make myself wake up. I never can. I’ve been having this same goddamn dream for a month now! Jesus Christ, the pills don’t help. Damn Jew quack, probably poisoned me. I’ll fire the bastard when I wake up.

Jesus, I’ve been running for hours. I’m too old for this! I should just stop. I should turn and face them, maybe then I’ll wake up fast. No. I’ve gotta run. I don’t want it. It’s always bad. Sometimes it’s so bad. So bad.

I’m in the woods and I can hear the dogs. Rabid dogs. Dogs and people. Sometimes, when they catch me, they’re dogs AND people. I mean the dogs have faces and the people look like dogs. Freaks. Animals. Damn inbreds and apes and freaks.

They should fight each other, not me! Some of them are white guys! They should be on my side. They’re not on my side, not any more. I can hear them shouting, “Race traitor!” Why don’t they stop and set the dogs on the blacks? I could get away if they did their damn jobs!

I’m scrambling up a slope, but the damn rocks are sliding down and I’m not moving, I’m not moving, I’m not getting away and they’re getting closer. I can feel my heart pounding and I wanna puke. My heart is pounding and I know that’s not just the dream. That’s my real heart. Don’t they know they’re gonna kill me?! Not dream-kill, real-kill! So ungrateful, so unfair! I’m sweating. That’s real, I know it. I’ll wake up sweating right through the damn sheets. She won’t share my bed anymore. Says I sweat too much. Bitch. Dumb bitch. A wife shouldn’t be able to leave her husband’s bed! It’s treachery. She should take some of the responsibility, some of the burden. Take her, not me! Take her!

They’re close now. I don’t wanna look around. I see them. Worse than ever. So bad. So, so bad. Tough white guys with guns. They used to cheer me, damnit! I’m shouting that they should support me, but they just keep shooting! Bastards! Traitors! They’re with the Jews and the Blacks and the freaks!

They’re gonna get me. They always get me. I hope it’s quick. The shot gun was quick. I woke up and had to take a heart pill, but it wasn’t so bad. It’s worse when they do stuff to me first. They do horrible stuff. Nasty stuff. Just such nasty, awful stuff. One time it was damn terrorists with towels and water. One time it was the fags, dressing me up and laughing at me and making me dance. One time it was… I’m not gonna think about it. Whatever I think it’s gonna be, it’s always worse. The worst is when I kinda like it and then they laugh at me. I’m a tough guy, damnit, but even a tough guy has limits!

I’m screaming for Jesus to help me. Jesus should come right down and help me. This is a dream, anything can happen, so Jesus come down and save me! Then I spot him, right there in the crowd. He’s all in white, so serene, you know, so, so dignified. I’m gonna be saved. Only Jesus can judge me.  I see him. I see him, but he’s right there with them and he’s laughing. Goddamn Jew! Goddamn traitor won’t help me!

They’re gonna burn a cross! Jesus should stop it, that’s a blasphemy, that’s so wrong, so, so wrong in so many ways! Stop them Jesus! Stop them, they’re gonna burn me on it! They’re gonna burn me! Oh Jesus I can feel it! You can’t feel things in dreams but I can feel it!

And I wake up right then and I can still feel it. I’m burning. I’m still burning! No. Just sweating. Heart is gonna burst. I’m gonna die and it’ll be their fault, all of them. Traitors! Can’t get to the heart pill. Damn Jew says no heart defect. Says it’s a panic attack. I don’t have panic attacks, damnit! I’m a man, I’m a strong man… I’m so damn healthy, I’m the healthiest, strongest man my age you’re gonna meet, believe me. Just this damn heart defect. They poisoned me, I know it.

I gotta shower. I gotta shower and fix my hair. I see my face and I look so damn old and sick. Don’t they care? Don’t they care what they’re doing to me? They’re gonna kill me with this pressure. Nobody is working but me.

The damn liberals are rioting. The damn nationalists are rioting. How can BOTH sides hate me? Are they dumb? They should hate each other, not me! Do they know how hard this job is? Do they care? I wanted to build the wall, damnit, but my hands are tied! It’s all money, money, money. They’re so greedy, so ungrateful. I’ve tried to get the illegals deported, but we need more men and more men means more money!

Don’t they get it? I don’t get a damn day off! I want a day off! I should be allowed to have a day off, it’s so damn unfair!

I haven’t even finished fixing my hair when Steve calls.

“What the hell is it? It’s not even six am?” I snap. My voice sounds shrill. I need to calm down.

He gives this long sigh. Long, long sigh like he’s the tired one. Lazy damn traitor. He’s meant to work this out for me. “Sir…” he says. He doesn’t even sound like he has any respect. He says ‘sir’, but it sounds like some damn teenage punk talking to his old man. He should have some respect! “Sir, it’s a nightmare…”

Then I can hear laughter on his side of the phone. Someone is damn well laughing. Don’t they understand? Don’t they understand what this is?

I can still feel the heat on my skin. I think I’m blushing because they’re laughing. Maybe I’m burning. I don’t know anymore! It’s these damn pills! I don’t know if I’ve woken up! They’re burning me.

It’s a goddamn nightmare.

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