In last night's dream I was sitting at a picnic table trying to enjoy my meal while the person across from me starts smoking. Puff, puff, puff. The smoke billowed in my face. I couldn't breathe much less taste my potato salad. "Do you mind?" I asked. The person shouts back, "Hey! I got a right to smoke!"
I moved a hundred feet down the seemingly never ending table and settled in across from a guy who had seen the whole interaction. He consoled, "Yeah, man... I hate it when people smoke. It's nasty. My girlfriend lit one up the other night and wanted me to f*ck her, but I wasn't about to f*ck her while she was smoking. I told her, 'I don't f*ck smokers.' F*CK!"
The cussing was a real turn off so I moved away from table entirely. I found myself at the bottom of a ladder. I could hear someone speaking at the top. The things the voice said were good things, lovely things. I don't remember what was said, I just know it was pleasant and I was drawn to it. Naturally, I climbed the ladder. At the top of the ladder were wood beams of cedar. They arced and formed a triangular port. I wanted to peer in, to see who was speaking, but I could only "crown" the opening; I literally didn't fit in.
I attempted to cram myself through anyway, when a monitor swung in place and I could see my appendages being tugged at and and sliced. I watched as deep slashes formed in pink skin and adipose tissue rolled out sparkling. I saw myself being hacked at until arms and legs dangled by sinews then came off.
Terrified, I let go of the ladder. And fell with a thud on a cold tile floor. I found myself in a bathroom for women. On the wall was a metal dispenser. A beautiful girl put in three pieces of silver and three sanitary napkins plopped out. The napkins were made of thick terricloth and fleece. Yellow on the "catch" side and black on the other. On the black side was an embroidered emblem that said "Planned Parenthood" in style. This was not your normal pad. It was made for soaking up oceans... and was reusable. Confused I looked at the metal dispenser again. Written in tender pastels were the words "After Abortion".
Death was sweetly packaged and highly mainstream. I sat on the floor and laughed through tears that woke me up.