I went round to the house to pick up my stuff
Aylish and Holly were there
Holly showed me her new bra
Red
A accidently dropped it in my martini glass
Panicked
Tried to wash it out breaking the martini glass
More people arrived
Everyone weirded out by me being there
The kitchen was full
Making it difficult to find my stuff
I stepped on the cats grey hairless tail
Knocked some more stuff over
Anxiously cleaning up after myself
Endless circle
I just wanted to get out of there before you got back
So did everybody else
The awkwardness was piercing
When I finally managed to leave
I found you out by the bins
You looked dead
Flies everywhere
Your toe sticking out of the broken trainers
A crow picking at it
The seagulls drawing near
Crgh
Crgh
Crgh
Crgh
Crgh
I was in one of two teams. Rummaging through rubble. Locating objects to construct a giant armour. A sort of Elizabethan dress with a spiky collar. Drones flying above. Filming. Broadcasting live. A race against time. Some sort of threat. Entity. Global disaster. The dystopian setting looked authentic. Homeless people as extras. A few fake set pieces of derelict buildings. The illusion became a reality. The end drawing nearer. Panic. I ran off. Stole an abandoned car. Keys still in the ignition. Traffic jam. Everyone trying to flee the city. Impossible to move. I abandoned the car. Ran back to the studio. The half finished armour had been dismantled. Made into a new set. A new film crew. A film with Brigitte Nielsen back in her prime. Heavy breathing. My muscles were cramping up. Brigitte Nielsen squeezed my arm. Rubbed my shoulders. Her long fingernails ran through my hair. My head resting in the crack of her giant breasts. She pushed me further inside. She told me, she knows all about anxiety. She has had her fair bit of drama in her life. My breathing stopped. It went all dark. I was climbing through rubble towards a slither of light. A hatch. I climbed inside. An end of the world warehouse party. Robert Owens was singing live on a house track. After the rain. After this pain. Too much Too much Too much Too much rain. Sunshine. Good times. My life. Sunshine.
I was captured. Entered into a game. A serial Killer on the loose. Solve the mystery before he ends you. A fight to the death. I was stabbed. Damaged body parts discarded. Reassembled with healthy tissue. Revived. Another mystery. Another fight to the death. Another. Another. Bodies becoming more and more obscure. The axe killer chopped off my head. Set fire to my body. My eyes sending images to my withering brain. The smell of scorched flesh. Fire turning pink. Purple. Dark blue. Black. Black. Black out. I woke on the operating table. Felt the scar around my neck. In the mirror I saw my large head roughly attacked to a tiny body. I grabbed my sore throat. I tried to scream. Damaged vocal cord. A strange sound creeping out. Muffling the words: “I think I want to wake up now!”
