As Yet Untitled

Faintly, off in the distance, I hear her voice. Closer now, nearer, louder, her voice is dripping honey sweet melodic; now a breathy whisper, more breeze against my ear than actual sound; now normal, mundane: "How was your day?"

I try to answer her but the words will not come, which is just as well because she isn't there. Defeated, I take a bite of my roast beef sandwich, hot tender juicy wonderful, au jus runs down the side of my chin as the horseradish kicks in blazing hot eye-tearing but delicious as flames lap at the tongue. She's not eating her sandwich - it's too hot for her. She asks the bartender for banana peppers instead, and he produces a bright yellow bunch of bananas from behind his back, which he hands to her amid much applause.

Now he produces a bunch of flowers from behind his back as well, and I can feel the jealousy brewing in the pit of my stomach as she accepts them, the applause growing louder. She gets ready to step into the box to be sawed in half. Knowing that this is not going to be an illusion but an actual dissection, I turn away; I cannot watch. I run toward the door hearing blood-curdling shrieks being drowned out by ever growing applause.

The door is chained shut, heavy metal rusted and unbudgeable. "That door ain't been open in thirty years..." mutters an old timer on a nearby bench. I sigh heavy and turn my collar up against the wind, and head down the street. It's dark, lonely, cold, empty, but ahead there is a light - a house. I know I must get there quickly, but my legs disobey my commands to move faster. They are heavy leaden tired, but I persevere.

As I make my way up the walk, I see a silhouette peer through the blinds. I rush towards the door which swings open by itself. "Took you long enough," she says, laughing. "They're out back prepping the bonfire." As we walk through the house to the back door, the buzzing of a chainsaw gets louder and louder, cacophony, din, until finally I awake with a start, hit the snooze button, and go back to sleep.