So there I was, dreaming about nothing in particular last night, when I happened to drive to my dream vacation home in Colorado (which, by they way, is beautiful in the late spring), and thereupon notice that my dream self has quite the assortment of firearms lying about his modest home.
Yeah, see, right there I should have known this dream wasn’t going to be pleasant.
This dream self was on vacation. Turns out I am a therapist. It’s a nice day, so I’m walking into town. I’m trying to buy cigars at the local smoke shop (don’t ask), when the proprietor asks for some counseling. The conversation goes something like this:
“Mack, Bud, I’m on vacation.”
“Ah, ok,” he said, looking troubled.
I sigh. “Tell me about it.”
“I was dreaming I was really sick, and then this voice inside my head told me to find people looking scared and bite them. That it would make me feel better.”
Ooooookkay. “So, Mack, did this voice say anything else?”
“Yeah, it said if I found people who didn’t look scared, that I should sneak up on them instead. Safer that way. What does that mean?”
“Zombie dreams are simply watching too many horror movies, Mack. If you’re taking vitamins or eating cheese before bed, you might want to avoid that. Those things can make dreams more vivid.”
“Did you say anything back to this voice?”
“Naw. Too busy puking out my dinner and blood. It was gross. Take the box of cigars, on the house.”
So now my friend Kevin walks up as I leave the store with my newly acquired box of goodies. Kevin looks at the box and says “score!” Apparently he was on a coffee run, because he hands me a big coffee. We start walking back to the house.
“Man, that barista was hot, but everyone knowing we’re therapists now kind of blows. She totally unloaded on me about her nightmare,” Kevin said as he rolled his eyes.
“What, did she dream about some voice whispering in her mind to bite people to make her feel better?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
That’s when the person across the street stops walking her dog, leans over, and pukes blood.
I won’t go into the details of what happened next. Let’s just say that we didn’t have nearly enough ammunition or gas. What happened to Kevin was just about the most disgusting thing I’ve ever dreamed about. And what happened to me, well, that was worse.
Memo to self: no multivitamin before bed time. Avoid vacation homes in Colorado in the spring. And stop playing Left 4 Dead 2.
I will admit this does all sound like the start of an outline. I’ll file it away under Z for zombie.