Dream Story - Blue Blood
Blackness is quite frightening, and it doesn’t go away when I open my eyes, why is that? Close them, open them, same difference, no; wait a minute, open them and there is a distant glow of – what could it be – brake lights? Must be, they are red - strange shape though, more like flashing numbers. That’s it. A red flashing sign, telling me eighty-eight dash eighty-eight. Funny that. Wonder how far it is to the sign, must be a long way off, the sound of white noise in my ears, where is that coming from? How do people put up with it? Worse than a helicopter buzzing overhead, where did the green man go, he did try to block up my chest, but the hole was too big, where my heart and lungs were, the others were laughing at me, calling me ‘Henry Moore’ man, But I don’t care. I am used to the hole in my middle now, which is sore at the edges, and keeps bleeding blue blood, so that I have to take my clothes off to wipe it clean, because the skull woman will beat me if I am not clean. Now I have soiled clothes, nowhere to wash them, nowhere for me to wash, except the butlers sink in the basement, where I’m not supposed to go, it is full of giblets, big giblets, what kind of chicken has giblets that size, they are not from a chicken at all, they are mine, I don’t want them anymore, the butler is coming, he will beat me if he finds me in here, I shall hide in the cupboard, I open the door and nothing - stars twinkling in the distance, I am falling – falling upwards into sound, the sound of doves flapping all around me, brushing my face with their snow-white feathers that scrub scrub scrub at my face until the skin comes away in shreds and my eyes hang out like ping-pong balls on bits of string-like chewing-gum so that all I can see is my where my cheeks were but the teeth are exposed now, all jagged and rotten because I never cleaned them before going to bed......what is that; a faint sound of two people talking softly behind me, do they know I am here, I shall shout as loudly as I can, I will shout ‘HELP! – HELP ME! - PLEASE HELP ME!’ I am very afraid that the butler will get to me before they can rescue me, and he is not going to take pity on me even though I do have a hole where my chest was, he said once before that the world would be a better place without boys like me to make trouble, I don’t care anymore, I shall shout as loudly as I can – ‘help’ –. Why won’t any sound come out of my mouth, is it because there are no cheeks to hold the sound in, surely the sound should come out of my throat, but that is connected to my lungs, or where my lungs were, like the bird with it’s head detached, trying desperately to speak to me, asking me to save her, she had a body, even though it was separated from her head, and she was alright after I put her head back on wasn’t she, I wish someone would mend me, but they won’t, they don’t want to mend me at all, I shall have mend myself, find the bits of me that are missing, or do without them, I can do without anybody, I am not afraid anymore, of anything or anybody, I will.......where is that light coming from, its too bright, the big door has opened and the light brings two figures with it, they are coming towards me, I shall tell them that I can do my own repairs, find the pieces, like the bird of paradise I mended, she was fine only she turned into something else, “I am alright, I can mend myself thank you very much”, I can speak! – I made a sound; I knew I could do it, if only I tried hard enough, and I did try very hard, and it has worked.
I turn away from them, that looks like an old radio-alarm clock, what is it doing here, red diodes all flashing together, must have been a power-cut. A hand is placed on my back, it hurts, burns into my flesh, where the hole was that I mended, “take your hand off me” it goes away, words are spoken to me, but I don’t want to hear them, I want to be left alone to continue my recovery on my own. I know best what to do, and that is to confront my torments and deal with them.
The words are spoken again, “I think we should call a Doctor, you are not well, are you my love”. That word – love – again, “I’m alright, just a bout of the nightmares, I can deal with it, just give me a little time, I’ll be ok, honest I will, see, my eyes are open, I can see you, smiling”.
She puts her hand in mine, it feels cold, damp; she squeezes mine, the way she used to when we first met and we walked in the country, where was it? Sussex, or maybe Surrey, The Surrey with the Fringe on Top, the open top Jag that we planned to buy, but never did, all the plans we made, all put aside because of – of, what, life, a place to live, is that what it’s all about?
End
