"Fever Dream"
I wrote this during a very interesting time in my life. I was 24 years old in the summer of 2013, at the height of my debauchery. I consider many aspects of this piece to be juvenile, but there is still some merit to this work. I intended to write more, but I neglected to do so as the years went on, so this is its finished state...
Fever Dream
I couldn’t find my eyes. Lost them somewhere between the Earth and the Sun. When I found them, they were cracked from the brutal heat, and crushed by the savage gravity. I tried to put them to sleep, tuck them in nice and tight. They were having none of it. They just watched me from the ceiling all night. And when the dawn suddenly appeared, they needed me again in an equally haste fueled fashion. Their intentions, unknown, if there were any at all.
Once firmly replaced within my skull, and rewired to my brain, instinct told me to stand up. This abrupt jolt sloshed the pools of blood in my brain that had begun to form. An oasis, or a series of oases, perhaps, or maybe a stagnant puddle behind a burnt out methadone clinic, who knows. Either way, this redistribution of juice sent a disturbingly exhilarating shock down my spine, winding around every non-severed nerve. It pushed me forward, flung me as a drunk flies through the back door into an alley behind your favorite dive bar. Gravity stuck its foot out, sending me crashing back to the ground, causing crimson title waves to violently crash and break against the levees on the shores of my brain. For a moment, I was a child once more; I could hear the old St. John’s bells ringing, and I could see a blur swinging back and forth, suspended by links of chain, bolted to the sky. No, wait. Those must be bluebirds. But they were chirping an unfamiliar song, driving the clouds around my head away, abolishing the rain, exposing the sun. And with the eminence of this source of light, I was seamlessly transported back to reality, out of the black.
Due to the fact that my face seemed to possess no sort of feeling at all, I trekked down the long hallway, away from the beaming windows, into a vacuous maw. Finally turning left, past the rubber tree, and in front of the mirror. Here, I could keep an eye on myself. I stood alert watching for any sudden movements. Vigilant, noting every eye twitch, nostril flair, brow elevation, and hatching grin. Slowly, I was piecing together the scheme that was surely brewing somewhere out of reach.
Once my reflection grew tired of watching me, the ambient distractions became visible in my audible spectrum. Obviously, these sounds were conspiring as well, it was not clear as to what their intentions were, although, their vibrations were menacing. It was about time to venture onward and out, make sure the ambience stays in line.
With what felt like a hop, skip, and perhaps even a jump, I expelled my mass from my dark, dank den, taking in the world in all its painfully bright magnificence. Like a blind vampire who has suddenly been miracled by Jesus, my eyes were quickly set ablaze, permeated, causing the springing of many leaks. As my iris was oozing out of my now sieve-like eyes, I realized that I had to act quickly or I would surely be blinded. Some self-injured, willfully disgruntled hippy kid who had flung himself head first into obscurity, rode by on this restored baby blue 1950’s paperboy bike. His face was adorned with jet black aviator shades. With a quick flick of my brain, I used the force to draw them away from his woefully misguided mug, onto my purpose driven peepers. Fortunately, he was riding with his eyes closed, directly into an oncoming convoy of semi trucks hauling drums of nuclear waste, so naturally my ever so subtle mental maneuver had no effect on his spiritual and physical course; directly onto the cover of issue no.1 of his very own comic book, or straight towards a painful, glowing death (which is usually how every comic book hero meets their doom). With my eye leaks properly patched, I averted disaster and enabled myself to continue on with my noble crusade.
The first ambient arbiter I encountered was an old, wise golden Labrador retriever. Curiously, this dog was wearing the same pair of shades as I. Off of his neck hung several pendants; a peace sign, an Ankh, the ever-so-charming circle with an arrow male symbol, and a small vial containing a clear fluid.
“Hi there, any news from your razor sharp canine olfaction?”
“Only the telltale signs of hopeless confusion”
Said the profound pooch as he shook his head.
“I said news, Scooby. May I call you Scooby?”
A grin laced with mischief and hints of malicious intent began to crack on my face.
“No, no you may not.”
With a gulp and a refreshing “ahh”, the dog somehow uncorked the vial around his neck, and took a hefty swig of the mystery liquid.
“My name is Francis, Francis Woods. And I may call you?”
“You may call me Camel, Joe Camel.”
Like I was going to give this pup my real name.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Camel,”
“Likewise, Francis. By the way, call me Joe.”
“Right, and you may call me Mr. Woods.”
“Very well. Anyways, Mr. W, how did you manage to drink from that vial? I thought dogs couldn’t look up.”
“I can,”
Said Mr. Woods as he took another sip
“And I said Mr. Woods, not Mr. W”
“Right, right.”
I replied with strongly implied indifference towards his preferred nomenclature.
Just at that moment, a shaky, sweaty, paranoid mailman was hesitantly crawling along the sidewalk opposite of us.
“What’s his deal, anyways?”
I asked.
“He knows his place.”
Replied Mr. Woods.
The Mailman then stood up and threw all of his deliveries in the air.
“How do you expect me to go on like this?”
Shouted the mailman as he dashed away.
“You’ll eat it, and you’ll like it!”
Barked Mr. Woods with great authority.
“Maybe he’s not hungry?”
“Nonsense, He is always hungry. Just last week, he had the nerve to ask for a second helping. He knows that there is only enough for one serving each, so I revoked his sausage, and stuck him with the raw, unbaked corpse of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.”
“Harsh.”
“Hardly.”
Suddenly, Mr. Woods had a lit cigar grasped firmly between his teeth.
“But to the point, Joe. Why are you here?”
“Well, as it turns out, the rest of them and that asshole living in the mirror are up to no good.”
“And you know this, how?”
Asked Mr. Woods as he blew twin smoke rings from his long nostrils.
“That’s bad for you, you know.”
“Sorcery!”
Exclaimed Mr. Woods
“I do as I please, cancer free!”
He was now smoking two cigars.
“Where in the hell are you getting those cigars from?”
I asked.
“Cuba, but that’s not important. Please explain your suspicions.”
“I hear Cuba is lovely this time of year.”
“Quite.”
“Anyways, Woods, I just know, you know? Yeah, Woods, you know.”
“Please, I insist that you refer to me as Mr. Woods,”
Suddenly, his sunglasses were perched atop his forehead
“It is very important that you refer to me as Mr. Woods.”
He said as he was casting a piercing glare through me.
“Ouch!”
“Good!”
His aviator shades were now replaced with rose tinted, circular, frameless specs which dropped back onto his eyes
“Sit, gravity, sit. Good gravity.”
“Neat trick.”
I said in genuine admiration.
“Much thanks.”
Replied Mr. Woods
“Excuse me for one moment, would you?”
Mr. Woods then proceeded to eat both of his cigars, vomit them back up, and then eat the cigar vomit.
“Sick!”
“Indeed,”
Mr. Woods topped it all off with another tug from his vial.
“But yes, I do know how you know.”
“Finally!”
I exclaimed with joyous relief
“About damn time someone understands.”
“Yes, Joe. That is why I am here.”
Suddenly, the necklace with the vial was hanging from his snout.
“Here, one yank from this should take care of everything.”
“How convenient!”
“Mightily.”
“What is it, anyways?”
“LSD.”
“Oh… How is that going to help me?”
“Hmm… I guess you’re right.”
Mr. Woods began to massage his temples with his front paws, as if in deep thought, or attempting to alleviate a headache.
“I thought dogs couldn’t get headaches?”
“I can,”
replied Mr. Woods
“Well, Joe. There is only one thing to do.”
“Oh, yeah?”
I asked
“And what’s that?”
“What's a thing?”
Said Mr. Woods as he tilted his head to the left in confusion.
“No, the one thing to do.
“Follow me.”
“Okay.”
I followed Mr. Woods down a spiral staircase which was located within a pillar of ivy.
“What is this, your house or something?”
“One of them,”
replied Mr. Woods as if it were perfectly normal for talking dogs in possession of powers to own multiple homes.
“It’s pretty nice,”
I commented,
“But is it just a giant spiral staircase?”
I added as we continued down the seemingly unnecessarily long path.
“No. No it is not.”
We finally reached the bottom, which was fortunate for me, because I was considering flinging myself and just rolling the rest of the way. We arrived in a room with a floor that was clearly stolen from some deep green forest in Scotland, complete with thick trees and foliage. Within seconds of being here, Mr. Woods let out a fearsome growl and then proceeded to pounce on some sort of small, furry woodland critter. He had it clinched unflinchingly within his jaws as he violently shook it side to side, freeing it of any vital signs it may have once had.
“Hungry?”
Mr. Woods inquired.
“Eh, I could eat.”
I replied.
With a roar that was surely summoned from the deepest depths of his diaphragm, Mr. Woods shouted,
“Critters!”
At that moment, a regiment of small woodland critters, similar to the one Mr. Woods had recently eviscerated emerged from the flora.
“Violently kill yourselves! But not all of you, the rest are to prepare the dead for a fantastic feast for my guest and me!”
“Sounds tasty, but can they be slow smoked?”
“North Carolina Barbeque style!”
Shouted Mr. Woods to the surviving critters.
“We shall require a coleslaw as well!”
“Look, this is great and all,”
I said,
“But I kind of need to take a piss. Could you have one of your delicious looking critters show me to the toilet?”
“Pick a tree,”
replied Mr. Woods.
“Right,”
I said as I picked out the healthiest looking tree I could find.
“Not that one,”
“Aw, come on.”
“I said no.”
“Fine, I’ll just pee on this average looking weeping willow then.”
“Or that one.”
“How about this one?”
“Nope.”
“This one?”
“Nah.”
I was beginning to grow tired of these shenanigans, so I walked over to the nearest tree and began to unzip my pants to relieve myself.
No! Not Professor Frank!”
Shouted Mr. Woods as he flung himself at me, executing a flawless cross-body block. As I hit the ground, I simply allowed the urine to stream out onto a patch of clover.
“Now look at what you’ve done!”
Cried Mr. Woods. He then urinated on the clover patch, set it on fire with eye lasers, then expelled additional urine on the blaze, extinguishing it.
“I like your eye lasers,”
I said as I picked myself up off of the ground.
“Do you think you can teach me how to do that?”
“That would be a bad idea.”
“So?”
“You make a fine point there, Joe. But even so, I must decline.”
“Come on! Imagine all the things I could eye laser!”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, but still.”
“Joe, while the answer to all of the poor, unfortunate mumbling souls may be elusive, one must resist the allure of the seemingly simple answer that eye lasers may or may not provide.”
Mr. Woods spoke with a tone that was swimming in a somber soup.
“Eye lasers are not to be taken lightly, Joe. Their awesome killing power is easily misused when placed in the wrong hands, or eyes.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I would most likely attempt to accomplish most things by way of eye laser. Things such as preparing meals, cleaning my bathroom, changing the channel on the television, replacing a light bulb… You know.”
“Of course,”
replied Mr. Woods,
“Of course.”
I was beginning to experience a severe urge for nicotine, so I removed my pack of Camel cigarettes from my left pants pocket.
“Mind if I smoke?”
I asked.
“Only if you’ve got one for me,”
replied Mr. Woods.
“Sure do,”
I placed the pack in his extended paw, and watched him examine it. It was at that moment that I realized doing this may have destroyed my alias.
Mr. Woods immediately noticed my obvious look of concern,
“Fret not, Joe.”
Said Mr. Woods in a facetious tone,
“Unless you take me for a complete fool, you must have known that I did not truly believe your real name is Joe Camel. After all, I was one of the co-founders of RJ Reynolds.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
I said as I narrowly avoided tripping over one word, and concussing myself on another.
“I knew that, and, uh… It was a joke, yes, a hilarious joke. Ha. Haha. Ha.”
“My, my, you sure know your way around a joke,”
Said Mr. Woods with a half cracked shit-eating grin (a grin appropriate for dogs) on his face.
“Uproarious laughter shall ensue!”
He shouted.
Just then, a legion of furry critters emerged and began to laugh in an uproarious fashion.
“Perfect, yes, yes. Perfect.”
Said Mr. Woods and he stroked his whiskers in a sinister fashion.
“Make it stop! For the love of everything holy, and God, make it stop!”
I cried as the critters’ painfully haunting, melodious laughter filled the air.
“Stifle!”
Shouted Mr. Woods, triggering all of the critters to immediately banish their laughter, and perform a synchronized ninja backflip routine, returning to the thick.
“I think I smell what the Woods is cookin’,”
I commented.
“You are correct,”
said Mr. Woods,
“Follow me, and the feast of a thousand critters shall commence.”
I followed Mr. Woods through incredibly thick foliage. We were creeping along at a solid pace, silently.
“Don’t you think we should be making more noise?”
I asked,
“You know, just in case we come across some critters having an incredibly furry orgy, give them a warning.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,”
said Mr. Woods,
“The critters are not allowed to engage in sexual intercourse of any kind.”
“Not even oral?”
I asked in remorseful horror.
“No, not even oral.”
Replied Mr. Woods
“Wow, that sucks.”
“Not really.”
After about twenty solid minutes of wading through the thick bush Mr. Woods calls home, I began to feel great fatigue.
“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. Don’t you have some sort of critter driven chariot or something?”
I complained.
“It’s in the shop.”
Mr. Woods replied.
“Damn.”
“Shut it up, you,”
barked Mr. Woods,
“We’re almost there.”
As Mr. Woods spoke these words, we entered a clearing; a circular absence of trees covered in deep green ankle high grass. In the center was a circle of stones, fraught with moss.
“You know, we never smoked our cigarettes. Can we stop here, you know, to smoke them?”
I asked.
“I don’t believe that would be a wise thing to do.”
Said Mr. Woods.
“Come on, man! My feet hurt, I’m getting light headed, and I feel a serious nic fit coming on!”
I whined.
“Very well, Joe. If that is what you want to do, so be it.”
We sat down on the stones and lit up our cigarettes. With a deep, rich, and full inhale, I drew the smoke from the burning chemical laden tobacco down into my lungs.
“Smooth,”
I said with great satisfaction,
“When I smoke Camel brand Camel cigarettes, I feel as if I am whisked away to Flavor Country.”
“Good,”
said Mr. Woods,
“The smooth flavor country was my idea, nice to see that it is still evident after all this time.”
“Did I say country? I meant county. And it wasn’t a whisk as much as it was being forcefully shuttled on a Greyhound bus.”
“I appreciate your honesty,”
said Mr. Woods,
“Although, any deterioration of smooth flavor country has nothing to do with me. I gave them the concept, and they have apparently ruined it.”
“Bah, it still has nicotine. That’s what counts, right?”
“I suppose.”
“The sporadic, temporary blindness is a bit distracting, but hey, what are you gonna do?”
Mr. Woods began to chuckle, he took a drag off of his cigarette, then began to speak in a sort of innocent, child-like tone,
“You know, Joe. Funny you should mention that, there’s a quite funny story behi…”
Mr. Woods was suddenly and violently snatched away by what looked to be some sort of shiny, flying blur.
“Oh fuck! What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck just happened?!”
I was incredibly confused and frightened. Countless thoughts of morbid horror raced through my head as I pictured a cute golden Labrador being drawn and quartered in mid air, at high speeds.
“W! Hey!” I cried, “Woods! … Woods! Are you alright?”
Well, I am now lost in some mystical forest owned by a now surely dead magical talking dog. The critters are going to grow suspicious, they will hunt me down and swarm, I will be enveloped in a wave of furry fury; killing me slowly in front of a large mirror so I can savor each and every detail.
I sat down and finished the rest of my cigarette in two formidable drags. My nerves a wreck, and my entire body shaking in sheer terror, I decided another cigarette would be an appropriate course of action. I struggled to find the pack of cigarettes in my pocket; this was strange considering the fact that the only thing in my left pocket was, in fact, the pack of cigarettes. After fifteen solid seconds of desperate searching, I removed the cigarettes, shakily pulled one out and placed it between my lips, and reached for my lighter. But, before I could pull it up to my face to ignite my cigarette, a large jet of flame rushed past my face, eradicating the upper half of my cigarette, but successfully lighting the bottom half. I turned to look in the direction from which the jet of flame originated, and what I saw was a really big, really angry looking silver snake, floating in the air. To simply call it a floating snake would be doing it a great injustice. The top of its head was adorned with a large, razor sharp silver fin. Inside this fin sat three large spikes that curved back towards the serpent’s tail. Its eyes were black holes, grabbing the light around them, twisting it, dragging it down into an infinite nether. The creature’s jaw hung open, revealing teeth that appeared to be made of steel, jetting out to frightening lengths, not just one row either. I could see what appeared to be a never ending spiral of teeth, descending deep down into the creature’s mouth. Its body violently lashed back and forth as it floated in front of me, eyes fixated.
“Well, shit. Can I please finish this smoke before you kill me in an ultra-violent fashion?”
The serpent wrapped me up with its tail, applying a great deal of pressure, but thankfully not enough to crush my bones and innards, forming a morbid amalgamation. It brought me close to its face, its breath smelt of napalm and wet dog. At this distance, I was able to see closely into its eyes, it appeared as if there were countless swirling clusters of celestial gatherings, chaotically drifting in their own gravitational forces. I was mesmerized, unable to break my gaze away from this astonishing sight. I was quickly losing my sense of reality; everything around me began to be eaten up and absorbed by a crushing black infinity.