| Self-Destruction Dreams by Vito Capobianco |
| I awoke to the sounds of thunder and heavy rain. It appeared as if the storm had not yet stopped. The bed in which I lay is enveloping, soft and very Victorian. The bed posts are massive and intricately carved with images of vines, leaves and apples. The sheets are of silk and would be beautiful if not soiled, hardened with my sweat. It is most comfortable so I lay there waiting you. I don�t remember the dreams at this time, I think only of the night before. It�s not long before you arrive. A soft knock brings me out of a light doze. �Yes. Come in,� my voice seems harsh and too loud in the peaceful setting the storm has created. You enter without delay. To my surprise you still wear the yellow dress; it seems not to have taken any damage from the rain so I take no further notice. �How do you feel?� Your smile is warm although it seems as if you are not speaking to me. It was as if you were asleep and speaking in a dream. �Fine. A bit worse for wear I might say.� My poor humor goes unnoticed. I pretend to cough and go on, �My arm, it is a bit sore.� I did lift it to show you the extent of the damage. The flesh just past my elbow, towards my wrist, was blue and black. You quickly wrapped it in a tensor band and helped me get dressed. �It�s time for breakfast.� You smiled, your eyes focusing on nothing, and lead me to the dining room. At the table, my hand plays across the deep burgundy tablecloth. You are away somewhere at this point. I take the time to observe the surroundings. The colors here are very deep reds and browns. It seems peaceful, like much of the estate that I had seen up until that point. The walls had many insets where suits of armor run in a vigilant line. There is a grandfather clock at the head of the table which is maybe four seats from where I sat; the end of the table. I looked to the plate and cutlery in front of me. I was beginning to notice a theme. The plate was porcelain and the rim was very pure silver which had the most elaborate pattern of apples and snakes all the way around. It appeared as if the snake was trying desperately to eat the apple but could not. The knife, also silver, was in the shape of a snake with its jaw stretched open ready to bite. The fork had three apples running down from the butt of the fork decreasing in size as they went. After some time the silence was broken by your approaching footsteps. You came in carrying a large silver platter, it seemed odd to me that the servants could not do so for you. In silence you laid the platter down in the middle of the table, I was not surprised to see the only food offered was apples. You served my plate first, then after preparing your own, you took to the far end of the table. �Excuse me good lady. I do not mean to be so rude, but would you tell me your name? I�m Gordon Chung.� �Dacia. And I don�t see what�s rude about wishing to know my name, Gordon. Do you?� I did think on this for quite some time, I suppose, because by the time I formulated a response you had finished clearing the table and the sliced apples before me had turned quite brown. �No, I suppose not.� �You are quite strange Gordon Chung. Please do tell me something of yourself. I�m very curious.� �Oh, I assure you Dacia, I am anything but strange. I do apologize, it seems the robbery has left me in worse shape then I had previously thought. Please, Madam, if you could telephone the police I�ll be on my way; and out of your way as soon as possible.� �Yes of course. The only phone is in mother�s room. Follow me.� You did lead me past the door you had come through with the platter. I had been under the impression that it would lead to the kitchen but it turned out to be another hallway. It was a poorly lit hallway at that. I was becoming quite appalled at the condition of the estate at that point. The flooring was hardwood; your bare feet made tiny slapping sounds against it. Your feet truly were filthy, the dirt smeared to your ankle, I wondered how long you hadn�t worn your shoes. Days? Weeks perhaps? We passed by several doors, I wasn�t sure how many; I spent most of the walk staring at the back of your neck, where your hair would dance, and at your calves flexing with each step. It seemed to me that you were indeed a model of physical beauty, slender and fit. I believe I commented on this during a cup of apple cider. Your lips moved very little; the words were merely breath, your response was dreadfully melancholic; �I am the exhumed corpse of past rhetoric, filled with renewed passion like very much processed cheese. Without substance or value, I am flavor.� With that said we turned our faces back to the sky, me to watch the storm, you to enjoy the sunshine. The lighting cast shadows of our bodies that did leer and weave with seemingly malicious intent across the filthy walls. Smears of dirty looking dried blood streaked the wall near the floor; running along the same line, scores of fingernail scratches mark the path we did follow. I tried to process this but I still felt incredibly strange, felt as if my skull was filled with a liquid. Each step swished this numb feeling across my brain, I know they say your brain has no feeling, but this I did feel. Believe me Dacia, for the things I did and will do once I find you, are not of my own design. I do care for you, much like trailer park cousins. I could kiss you and nobody would think it too strange. God knows your mother wouldn�t oppose, excuse the poor joke, Maryanne, it seems living with you has made me quite a morbid character. Or perhaps I always had been, maybe only now am I truly myself. And if this is true then who was I before I met you? Surely I was not another. Surely I am now the butterfly to the caterpillar you met. Yes, like aged wine, properly steeped tea. Do you love me Dacia? I suppose it�s not fair to ask the question. For so long what we had between us went unexplored, I believe it�s too late now�Considering, well I guess you know well enough what I mean. Where are you now I wonder? Still in the cellar, next to him, the dead one, is that where you hide? Well you�d better get up soon, and start running. Hide yourself somewhere you never showed me, hide yourself somewhere you�re certain I�ll never find you. So then I can enjoy the horror struck look of shock on your face. The tight pretty little scream will be like piercing silver trumpets in my ears. The tears that I lick from your cheeks, better then any wine. The last thing you�ll ever hear is me laughing Dacia. And just as well as it should be�I will miss you, please don�t think me too cold that I would not care, it pains me to do these things�but I must. It must be done. It makes me wonder, your quick denial to my advances, did you feel the tension. Betweens us�I am certain you did, the tension that would build and swell up when we drew close together. It was particularly strong one afternoon after a quick and spirited game of hide-n-seek in the hedge maze. I was the one running, the tall thick hedges streamed through the sides of my vision. My breath was quick and panicked; there�s no real thrill like that of the pursued, like how you feel now. The rain beat down hard as I flew through the twists and turns of the maze, I had no real direction in my flight my only intent was to stay ahead of you but that soon came to an end. I could hear you not far behind as I came into a dead end I slipped in a puddle and fell into the hedge. I did turn and you were upon me. Your cold white skin pressed and heaved heavily on my chest. Without thinking I pulled you closer and nestled my head in your shoulder. Smiling, I laughed at our foolishness, you laughed as well. We both raised our heads to look at each other and our lips were no more then an inch apart, I swear I could feel static pass between them. And I could see it in your eyes�a longing, I know it because I see it in my own eyes every time I look into a mirror and I think of you. Your breath tickled my tongue and that�s when I leaned in. You jerked back and out of my grasp, turned on your heel and bolted down the path. Defeated I slumped down face first in the puddle. I couldn�t breath but did not move to clear my airways. I simply drank in, and breathed in as much water as I could until I coughed and vomited it up. I thrashed against my own will, doing all I could to keep my head submerged. After some time it wasn�t so hard to keep my head below the surface of the water, in fact it quickly became easy and comfortable. It felt good to no longer feel the great strain of struggle in my neck. To let my head bob and sway with the left over momentum in the water. The next thing I remember is slowly waking up once again in the very Victorian bedroom. The heavy sheets cool against my bare chest, I stretched out my legs straining the calf muscles. The rain beat down in a steady drumming rhythm on the windows; the sound lured me into a sort of half sleep. The kind of sleep where your eyes flutter between open and closed, and whatever dreams you have are frighteningly real. A cold chill washed over me, rippling my skin into goose flesh as I remembered the dreams I had had that afternoon. They started with the maze. You and I were having the game of hide-and-go-seek. It was raining harder than I�d ever seen it in my life. We were both soaked, our hair in tangles as we ran. I was chasing you through the maze when a terrible fear crept up on me. I was getting scared, you on the other hand seemed the happiest I�d ever seen you. A terrible blackness spread through the clouds, like someone had spilt a bottle of fountain ink into them. The vile looking blackness billowed through the clouds and bled out in the rain so that it came in waves like the flicker of a broken down television screen. Quite suddenly you disappeared around another corner and when I did round it you were not there. Instead I found the face again. This time alone bound with tight wire; that made its decaying flesh bulge, to a wooden pole erected in the middle of a dead end. Dizzying waves of heat pulled me with a light but steady force closer to the face. I could hear its throbbing pulse in the thunder overhead and what sounded like an armies approach under foot. Slowly I dragged feet through puddles and mud the eyeless nose-less face spilling black eye shadow through a tightly clenched jaw. I kneel down, not of my own will of course, and press my ear against the terrible mouth of the head and the runny fluid sputtered in my ear. Quietly it said: �Soon what wouldn�t and couldn�t ever happen will come to be and a requiem will be shouted from the tallest of mountains for those who have transgressed your will.� An ominous message that is for certain. What it did mean exactly I did not know until recently. There I go again, getting side tracked. I suppose I should continue in a linear line, but you know me Dacia I�ll be off again in no times telling. |