Night Terrors: The pink mice
Night Terrors:
In this dream
I am standing in a room extending endlessly in all directions, strung with draping white fabric and exuding the faint smell of latex.
I turn and in the midst of this blank oasis is a blond baby, sitting and staring. Her hair floats against her skull like wisps of cotton and her skin is too pink, raw, like the shiny flesh under a scab.
I blink and the whites of my eye seize the chance to suck my irises back into my eye sockets. Like a trampoline, they pop back with a squeak and I see that this little girl is no baby.
She is a massive swarm of baby mice, blind and raw pink skinned. The swarm pours over the ground like a tidal wave inside a glass of spilling water. The clicks of tiny teeth echo the sounds of hunger. My skin itches in anticipation.
Is this a nature video?
I’m not quite sure I understand the metaphor
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In this dream
I am riding alone on a motorbike through a construction zone at purple dusk.
The street lamps and car lights are glowing fire orbs, floating like fuzzy cotton balls. I am navigating in-between roadblocks and street rubble and my hands are shaking. My bike shudders and wobbles with each breath I take.
The wind buzzes against my face as I pass under a bridge and I careen through a red light. The stop light is the sun, which sets under bridges in the Midwest. No wonder the air is purple.
Emerging from the hot light I am snagged by a small series of rubber balls. These are police lights, and they bounce like tin cans trailing behind me. I hit my brakes and fall to the side, bringing the bike down on top of me. I curl underneath it and weep into the asphalt with relief. I wasn’t headed anywhere pleasant.
The police officer is wearing construction boots and has flowers in his hair. He pulls me to my feet and positions himself behind me talking in a light and pleasant tone, only I can’t understand anything he says. The words are out of order, like beads strung on a necklace.
His tone is so kind, perhaps he doesn’t understand that I don’t want his hands on my thighs or his face in my neck.
But we share no common language, he can’t hear my repeated “No.�