A few days ago, I had the strangest dream I could ever recall. I described it to my sister the last time we were chatting, and she told me “That’s messed up… You should totally put that up on your blog.”
Because of course I don’t appear insane enough. But hey, I’m trying to keep a weekly schedule on this thing, and I’ve got nothing better to write about, so here we go.
It started out with me just wandering aimlessly through town. Cars driving by, people ignoring everyone around them… you know, a standard downtown area. This is where things start to seem off.
On my journey to Gods know where, I came across a girl who couldn’t have been older than 9, lying in the road, dying from some illness. Without even asking her any questions, I picked her up and ran to the nearest hospital. She was hanging onto me for dear life, crying into my shoulder, thanking me profusely. It was very heart-wrenching.
I finally made it to the hospital, and got her into a bed in the emergency room. The doctor told me “We’ll take it from here.”, and I was just like “Alright, cool.”
Suddenly I was stepping into my apartment, and a group of my friends were sitting at my kitchen table, just chatting amongst themselves. I sat down to join them, and saw amongst them one of the people at the very top of my “Jesus Christ I Hate You So Much” list. My former roommate, the greatest chauvinistic, arrogant douchebag the world has ever known. (From this point forward, I will refer to him as Douche-King.) Douche-King started talking to me, as if there’s nothing wrong, and I said to him “Why the hell are you talking to me like we’re friends or something?” He then made some jackass reply which I have forgotten.
At this point my phone rang, and I saw that I had a text message. From “The Hospital.” Because apparently, not only does the hospital have my celphone number, but I have theirs, and they can text me. The text read simply “This girl needs a father.”
I stared at my phone for a moment, contemplating the outcomes of my decision, and said aloud “I’ll do it.” Douche-King then looked at his phone, looked at me, and said “Not if I get there first.”
So my dream turned into a foot-race through the city. Whoever got to the hospital first got to adopt the girl. In my vague realization that something was seriously fucked up here, I felt this great dread that I just wouldn’t be able to run fast enough. But I managed to find a great number of shortcuts, and I beat Douche-King to the girl’s room by mere seconds. She wass lying on the bed, wasting away, clearly on the verge of death, and the doctor said “Oh, not this girl. I was talking about her twin sister down the hall.” And Douche-King was like “Ha ha! I’ll get there before you!” But I didn’t really care… I’d never met the twin, I didn’t give a damn about her. I wanted to be the dying girl’s father.
I turned to talk to the girl about what the hell just happened, only to see her take her last breath, and then the heart monitor let out that single, long beep. I slumped to the floor, crying, and the doctor patted my back in the awkward manner that people do when they don’t know how to comfort someone.
Then the girl’s eyes opened, and she launched herself across the bed at the doctor, sinking her teeth into his throat. He turned into a zombie within seconds, and in a matter of moments I was running through the hospital, trying desperately to escape the zombie apocalypse going on. Then I woke up.
Analyze THAT, Frued.
Azzy the Awkward 