Miasmatic Review

The dark side of my mind.

Dreams. Some people say dreams speak of a person’s inner desire. Their subconscious creates fantasies of a person’s desires and hopes. Those dreams can be fun, they can be exciting, or they could be erotic. When fear overcomes you subconscious, you could even have nightmares, dreams so bad you wake up in a cold sweat. Occasionally a person’s dreams turn dark, not with fear but with anger and hatred. Some may call this a nightmare or a bad dream, but what if you enjoyed this dark dream? What would you call it then?

Let’s take a look at an example from last night. All names have been changed to protect me.

I’m sitting at Brian’s watching football with our buddies John, Jerry and Chuck. We are having a good time as the game involves teams none of us has a vested interest. There is a knock at the door. Brian answers it and it’s my “friend” Michael. Michael enters and starts talking bullshite about other people, about stuff I like and about anything. Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck are all going along, laughing, and playing it off. Even in my sleep, I can feel/hear my heartbeat accelerate. I’ve had enough of it, I yell at him, “Why don’t you shut the F*ck up? You’re nothing but an ignorant arsehole that only cares about what others can do for you.”

At this point, I stand up. Michael takes a swing at me connecting with my jaw. The blow was hard enough to sit me back down. From a sitting position in the chair, I lunge forward tackling Michael. We wrestle on the floor. We both are landing an equal number of punches. Remembering that I have my Boy Scout knife in my pocket, I try to get it. Dropping my protection, I reach into my pocket, pull it out and open it up with one hand. The whole time Michael is punching away at me. With the blade open, I slice Michael just below his belly button. With knife in hand, I cut into his abdomen. Blood is flowing everywhere, Michael is screaming in pain. The familiar stench of human bowel wafts up from the wound and I work my way up to his rib cage. Slicing through muscle, organ and tissue, I come to my prize. With my arm in his body almost to the shoulder, I can feel his heart beating. Finally letting go of the knife, I grab onto his beating heart and squeeze. With strength that can only come from a deep felt anger and hatred, I grip his heart in my hand.

Michael lets out a gasp and dies. Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck look on stunned. Too shocked to move, to scared to speak. I let go of Michael’s heart, grab my knife and start to pull out my hand. Just then, my “friend” Sara comes through the door. She starts spouting out mean and spiteful statements towards me. As my arm is pulling out, I grab one of Michael’s ribs and break it off. Standing, with Michaels broken rib in my hand, I walk toward Sara. In one fluid motion, like an eagle diving for a kill, I ram the rib into Sara’s left eye, through the bone and into her brain. She dies instantly. Standing there I laugh, I laugh at what I have done. My mirth is bolstered by the stunned looks on Brian, John, Jerry and Chuck’s faces.

Then I wake up, smiling. I think to myself, “That was great.” I realize it was only a dream. It didn’t actually happen. The anger and hatred flood back into me like magma through lava tube. Lying my head down I go back to sleep and have two more similar dreams; one involving the dealership and my truck, the other involving other associates of mine.

In the morning, I contemplate my mental health status. Is this normal to find that much pleasure and comfort in a situation like that? I know I wouldn’t actually do anything like that, but still. The pleasure and satisfaction was overwhelming.

…and no, I did not feel guilty at all.