Blind Trucker

 

Photo Credit:Author - Rio Hotel LV

Waking up in the middle of the morning is normal for me. 

    At 2:37 (via Apple health app) I woke up, not having had any substantial dreams yet. This didn’t bother me. Mostly I use the interruption to see if anything came through. Falling back to sleep fourteen minutes later just before three, all was good. Something decided to crawl across my face a half hour later. Swiping my face, I figured it was gone. Ten seconds later, little feet are crawling across my forehead. Another pass with my hand and hopefully smashed so I can rest again. 3:30am is when I fell asleep, not waking up until the five minute action-adventure woke me up at 6:19.

    

    Too bad the last dream was the one I came back with. According to the app - I spent 41 minutes in REM, never waking up.

***

    I’m dropped into the action. A long-haired trucker is pushing his rig top-speed along the busy urban highway, just under a tunnel. The guy is older, gray hair is loose and down to his shoulders. My perspective is the dashboard. Two other passengers are in the rig, one next to the driver and one sitting in back. These men commissioned the driver to haul their dangerous cargo - alligators, and were along for the ride. In the tunnel the day transitioned into nighttime, I felt the tension of escape - we or rather they were trying to keep ahead of some danger. Our driver is blind - a cloth is wrapped around his eyes like the statue of Justice. Realizing that his eyes are covered sends me into a panic. How is he driving? It becomes apparent to me that I am his second-sight. He’s using my ability to see everywhere at once to make his runs. Smart man. A car becomes apparent to me, driving just behind us and closing fast. I can see the silhouette of a man (INSERT JOKE) holding a square shaped machine gun, getting in position to fire rounds into us. The driver, getting the feedback from what I saw, commands the passengers to buckle up and get low. He’s driving the truck from the left-hand side - indicating Europe or similar countries. The rig - loaded and heavy, groans as the driver shifts several times for max speed.

    The next sequence is reminiscent of a John Woo movie. The assassins begin firing from behind and coming up the left side at full speed. They manage to blow out the windows spraying glass inside the cab. What I didn’t realize was the configuration of the semi was all wrong. The tank holding the alligators was underneath the elevated cab. The driver opens up a hatch under his feet to check on the precious cargo - he sees as well as I do that the gators are fine, but getting restless. Another volley of shots catch the passengers, shredding them to bits. Needing to extend my psychic reach in order to end the chase, I enter the car chasing us. Depressing the pedal and turning the wheel, I careen the vehicle into a chain-reaction accident. The car slides in front of the semi-semi, getting crushed by the weight of the metal gator tank underneath. Chase now over, the driver brakes the truck and assesses the carnage inside. Not much was left of the passengers. He opens the hatch and begins sweeping the remains down to the hungry cargo below. I’m surprised that the driver is so non-plussed by his actions. I’m watching the man clean up the horrible mess inside the cab, and suddenly I’m seated at a desk with a green vinyl folder in front of me, with my name written in black marker. Blood and pieces of flesh are still being cleaned up by the driver. The man begins to fade as well as the mess in front of me. This episode is over, I feel like a writer who was so engrossed in a scene that it had taken over my senses…

I wake up.

    The dream recedes quickly. I’m about to check the time and hit with the feeling that I was just dreaming. Nothing. I couldn’t come up with anything from less than a few seconds ago. A quick memory comes through - the car with the assailants crashing under the semi - a severed head flies out, bloody and stripped of skin. I see the man cleaning off my desk and fading in front of me. I begin building the dream back up to write down at breakfast. ~End ~