Nicholas Dreams

Confused Patricide in a Suspended Japanese Inn

My brother, father and I were being held captive in a small room. I was aware that the surroundings were distinctly Japanese. In fact we were imprisoned in an incredibly spare traditional inn, replete with tatami, sliding screen doors and dark wood everywhere.
My father was being held captive by an enormous giant of a man who resembled an mongoloid, obese, Bruce Willis. He was kneeling behind my father, holding his head in a sleeper hold. He kept on threatening to snap his neck but seemed intent on keeping us in suspense.
My brother and I were pacing in circles around them, they were in the middle of the room kneeling on the tatami. As we circled around them we became increasingly agitated that the giant was actually going to carry out his threat. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I grabbed an enormous kitchen knife and clambered up his back. I proceeded to cut deeply into his neck until I felt his body go slack.  As I climbed down from his body and surveyed the gory scene I realized that somehow his body had merged with my father’s and I had inadvertently committed patricide.  My little brother began crying profusely and as I attempted to comfort him he began shaking violently.  He gradually shrank in size and became an infant version of himself.  I picked him and threw him over my shoulder and wrapped him in blankets.

An enormous siren went off throughout the building I was in and I realized I had triggered some sort of alarm system.  I threw the door open and began running around the inn carrying my little brother.  Eventually I came out onto an open, wooden terrace.  I was faced with an enormous industrial scene.

The inn itself was suspended from the underside of an enormous bridge.  Underneath us, sprawling in every direction was a gigantic refinery.  There were miles of pipes, concrete buildings and smokestacks belching exhaust and flames.  There was an elaborate system of suspended, concrete walkways coming off of the inn in many directions.  I could see small platoons of security guards in the distance attempt to get closer to us.  I began running carrying my brother all the while.  I chose paths at random hoping that they would lead us down to street level.  I kept on looking over my shoulder to ensure that the security guards were still at a safe distance.

Finally we exited at the bottom of an enormous concrete ramp and we were at a basic intersection.  It looked like any number of grubby, harsh street corners in Brooklyn, underneath the BQE and overrun with traffic.  I attempted to flag down a taxi.  Finally, in a astate of exhaustion I sat down on the curb, put my “baby” brother down on the sidewalk and began crying spasmodiaclly.

Bolivian defection and downy rats of alternating sizes

So, I am running up a ski slope on foot.  It’s a beautiful, crisp day and I am moving along at an amazing clip.  I notice an entire retinue of cars behind me and there is a young blond girl on a bicycle at the vanguard of traffic.  There are semi’s and SUV’s and she is going slightly faster than them.  In fact they seem like they are struggling to keep up.  It happens to be on a ski slope on the edge of the mountain, so on one side is a sheer drop-off and on the other a sharp incline.  We finally make it to our destination, which just happens to be her apartment.  I’m hiding from her, waiting to see where she enters.  All of a sudden I storm in behind her with an accomplice and slam the door shut.  We scream at her accusingly, “We know you are planning on defecting from Bolivia.”  My companion has the shady quality of a G-man, some sort of government operative.  He grabs her blouse and tears her shirt off.  She is standing there afraid and defiant in slacks and a bra.  She pleads with us not to tell anyone as she can’t stand life in Bolivia anymore.

At this point I notice her apartment is totally unfurnished and actually only consists of a screened-in sun deck with wood paneling.  I ask her, very graciously, if there is anything she might be able to offer us as incentive to not expose her plan.  She suggests we take her most prized possessions which consists of three plump, English-speaking, white rats in alternating sizes.  There is a very small one, like the size of a baby mouse, a medium sized one, similar to a New York rat, and an enormous one, like the size of a house cat.  I put them in an unmarked, white shoebox and take my leave.

Suddenly I am on a sidewalk next to a rather fancy little hipster bistro in somewhere I would presume if NYC.  There are attractive, well-dressed people sitting at tables chatting and drinking wine.  I go to sit down and place the rats on the ground.  One of the people at an adjacent table sees one of the rats sticking his nose out and decides to scream and lift the top off.  By this point I am quite emotionally attached to them and am horrified at the prospect of any of them being injured by the judgmental and unenlightened patrons.  Total chaos ensues as everyone attempts to get out of the way and alternately smash the poor little buggers under foot.  I, meanwhile, am using my baseball hat (which I’ve taken to wearing recently again, in real life) to attempt to scoop up my darling rats.  I manage to get the smallest one in my hat but when I pull him out I realize he is terribly mangled and has bled to death on the pavement.  I lose my temper and begin shoving the very same well-dressed people out of the way in attempt to salvage my last two.  I find them cowering in a hedge at eye-level while a pair of malevolent, gay, hipsters take it upon themselves to berate them for being rodents.  I get in an enormous shouting match with one of the guys, threaten to push his teeth in and gather up my last two mice and storm off.