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Some dreams don't have ice cream
Mar. 16th, 2004 05:03 pmI am staying in the family home in Jerusalem on a business trip, I am supposed to be a sales engineer but something happened to the salesman, so I have to cover the meetings on my own. I get off the phone after an argument with my mother, have a drink and settle in to get some work done. After a little while I decide to take a break and go for an evening stroll, but as I step out the door a motorcycle screeches to a stop in the middle of the intersection and the driver dives off to the side.
Time slows and I see the motorcycle explode as I dive backwards into the cover of the hallway. The glass door flexes and shatters spraying glass everywhere. I pick myself up, do a self examination, don't seem to have anything worse than superficial cuts, so I make my way cautiously to the door, and look out. The damage doesn't seem too bad and just as I am about to step onto the street to see if anyone was hurt, I see the driver standing up holding a small automatic pistol. He sees me and raises his weapon and being unarmed I duck back into the hall, seeking cover. Bullets thunk the wall outside, and stream down the hallway past me, the sparks of ricochets as they glance of the walls. I wait for him to reload and run down the stairs, I do not look back, I can hear him chasing after me.
I lead him into the basement, an industrial type area and grab something heavy to throw at him when he enters behind me. He bolts through the door assuming I have kept running and I bean him a good one, he goes down and I leap at him knocking the gun away before he can bring it up. He pulls a knife, swings, misses, I isolate the hand, smash it against a rail making him drop the knife. Only now do I get a close enough look and he is a boy not a man, maybe thirteen.
It stuns me and only the flash of metal in his other hand, brings me back to the reality of the situation. I bring my right arm up to block, but I see the threat too late to avoid it entirely, the small pocket knife in his hand becomes buried in my forearm. I slam my right knee into his side, loosing his grip on the knife, then pivot my torso to bring the left hand across to grab his wrist. I yank his arm down and towards me, bringing my left knee up forcefully into his chest, I can feel the soft pop of his arm dislocating. The knife still protruding from my forearm, my right hand comes around to grab the hair at the top of his head and I drop my center of gravity. Blocking the back of his legs with my right knee, tripping him up and slamming my right hand down. The effect is to up-end him so his head smashes against the concrete floor with a sickening crack. I don't even need to look or to check for a pulse, the sound of the crack tells me it is over.
-
and now
awoken from my afternoon nap
by such unpleasant thoughts
I don't know what to think
except that I prefer not to remember my dreams
Time slows and I see the motorcycle explode as I dive backwards into the cover of the hallway. The glass door flexes and shatters spraying glass everywhere. I pick myself up, do a self examination, don't seem to have anything worse than superficial cuts, so I make my way cautiously to the door, and look out. The damage doesn't seem too bad and just as I am about to step onto the street to see if anyone was hurt, I see the driver standing up holding a small automatic pistol. He sees me and raises his weapon and being unarmed I duck back into the hall, seeking cover. Bullets thunk the wall outside, and stream down the hallway past me, the sparks of ricochets as they glance of the walls. I wait for him to reload and run down the stairs, I do not look back, I can hear him chasing after me.
I lead him into the basement, an industrial type area and grab something heavy to throw at him when he enters behind me. He bolts through the door assuming I have kept running and I bean him a good one, he goes down and I leap at him knocking the gun away before he can bring it up. He pulls a knife, swings, misses, I isolate the hand, smash it against a rail making him drop the knife. Only now do I get a close enough look and he is a boy not a man, maybe thirteen.
It stuns me and only the flash of metal in his other hand, brings me back to the reality of the situation. I bring my right arm up to block, but I see the threat too late to avoid it entirely, the small pocket knife in his hand becomes buried in my forearm. I slam my right knee into his side, loosing his grip on the knife, then pivot my torso to bring the left hand across to grab his wrist. I yank his arm down and towards me, bringing my left knee up forcefully into his chest, I can feel the soft pop of his arm dislocating. The knife still protruding from my forearm, my right hand comes around to grab the hair at the top of his head and I drop my center of gravity. Blocking the back of his legs with my right knee, tripping him up and slamming my right hand down. The effect is to up-end him so his head smashes against the concrete floor with a sickening crack. I don't even need to look or to check for a pulse, the sound of the crack tells me it is over.
-
and now
awoken from my afternoon nap
by such unpleasant thoughts
I don't know what to think
except that I prefer not to remember my dreams
