troum

there were four of them, withered husks of human beings. jewish captives in my house, guarded day & night by nazis in crisp uniforms. one day the nazis went across the street for something. i & a friend had schemed - well, it was mostly him - to get the prisoners out. for whatever reason they were clad inappropriately. high heels - ridiculously high heels. i was shocked. can't run in those! tried to find the old woman some sneakers in her size, but she could barely speak. 5.5 is what i got out of her eventually. i was frustrated with their lack of motion. needless to say, the nazis came back. discovered our plot. i locked myself in my bedroom. also, there was a black man i was trying to help. he had returned for something he'd left behind. i hid him beneath my desk and began ripping the screen out of my bedroom window. they were there already, walking across the grass, tromping over my mother's bleeding hearts and enjoying a snigger at the inadvertent metaphor. they looked up and saw me trying to dismantle the window and escape, and pulled out their guns. no one escapes from the nazis. one of them jumped in through the broken screen and started firing at me. i dream-dodged most of the bullets. a few caught me. i felt the warmth of my own blood spill out, from the side of my throat, from a place below my clavicle. sticky on my skin, like maple syrup. one bullet i blocked with the gun & then i started firing at him. of course, i missed. swore i would do anything in my power to find him and kill him. when i found him, he was immaculately dressed in a sweater vest and combed hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, sipping tea in a green solarium. he was chortling, his head thrown back at someone's joke, when i, bloody and barefoot, aimed at his adam's apple and shot him through it.

weird, brief dream.  wandering the streets of portland (park ave, specifically, at the foot of the hill) in a dense fog so thick it is signifying the end of all things.  i am walking with a device that doubles as searchlight (poor in the fog) & music-player.  i am with two others.  they eventually fade away into the fog.  i hear the rumble of enormous doors sliding closed.  i am trying to find my way home.  there is (of course) something in the fog.