Last Train To Clarksville


I had just left her sitting on the couch listening to the music. The couch was on the street corner down the street from her house, well, her parents house. Crazy dreams. We were about 18-20 I guess. She was a cross of two ex-girlfriends. Part high school girlfriend and part recent girlfriend.

She was laughing and I left her there, with her thinking I was coming back. It was something about her reaction to something else that was the last straw. So I walked away. I think I knew that her parents were not home. yeah, thinking about it now I knew they were out of town.  When I walked in the back door (i left my keys on the dining room table earlier) everything seemed fine except for that feeling of being in someone elses house at a strange hour. Especially when her parents werent there.  Like it was still ok but not a hundred percent.

I walked into the dining room and immediately noticed the dining table, chairs, china, flatware were gone. The room was empty except for the phone. It was on the floor, off the hook and unpluged from the wall. For some reason, I thought the burglars might still be in the house. My heart was racing as I squated down to plug in the phone to call the cops. I saw a man walking up to the house, so I stood up and walked quickly to the back door. I was turning the doorknob on the back door as he was turning the knob on the front door. I had kept my eye on him the entire time, from when I first saw him to just as I opened the back door. As I turned to step out of the house, another man was already standing there.

I could only see his outline because the moon was directly behnd him. Then he leaned in  to “get me” and I saw a terrible face. I couldnt move. No punch, kick or headbutt. Nothing, I couldn’t even scream. Then he took a step forward and my only defense was to bite his face. Once my teeth were sank into his cheek I let out  a little girl shreek, and I woke up yelling. That was ten minuts ago.

UPDATE: This was written a few minutes after waking up. Really just enough time to boot up the ‘ol 6400. My closest friends have always wanted me to put my funky-ass dreams on paper, but I’m afraid I might be committed. This dream isn’t squat compared to others, especially my re-occurring dreams. I’ll include them on the blog if I get a few readers to tell me they want to read them. Let me know what you think.

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