The other night I dreamed of fighting zombies, again.
This time I lived in a house with a handful of friends. On the first floor of this house was a basement and in this basement was the entrance of a cave. My friends and I had the job of hunting down and killing various spirits and evil demons that, coincidentally, lived in that cave. We went about out jobs with little hesitation.
It was in the peak of night that we went about looking for these evil critters. I guess that’s just how we rolled. The cave was weird because it was well lit by torches that hung from the walls. The weird part came from the fact that the cave circled back on to itself with a door leading back into the house. We were elated that the hunt was over and that we were back safe in the house but we knew that we’d soon have to return to the cave and start the hunt all over again. That was the ouroboros of our existence.
Then it was daylight. We were back in the main part of the house from our evil critter hunt. This time I went outside. Some damn fool screams past me in a school bus and slides to a stop a few feet away. Out of the bus comes flocks upon flocks of zombies. They tumble out of the emergency doors. They worm out of windows. They pour out of every damn way you can fall out of a school bus.
The driver does nothing but laugh himself silly.
So zombies are spilling out of this bus and they spot me and our house. Of course, they march their zombie butts towards our humble abode.
I’m taken aback for a second. Then I realize that I’m the only one ready to stop them. I’m armed with a katana. I don’t know how I got it. It was just there. I rush headlong into the horde.
I woke up after destroying the first wave.
I wish I knew why the undead masses see fit to haunt my dreams. I fear to think what Freud would say about it.
That is after he calls his mother and snorts a line of coke.
