That Girl’s Revenge
Nightmare | September 2, 2010
A mall teeming with grade school children chattering and laughing and milling about in the shops on various levels. My older sister and I are teenagers cruising within this crowd.
Then abruptly all is quiet. A single girl's voice is heard throughout the mall as if on a loudspeaker. She says she has been picked on throughout her school life and now she will have her revenge. We can see her up on a higher level as she throws out her hand and points to a boy near me. As if flash frozen, the paralyzed boy collapses to the floor like a block of wood.
Then everyone is screaming and scrambling about in a frenzy to escape the mall. But there are no exits. All the panicking children are now running in a mad rush to avoid the girl's finger. Amidst the chaos more kids freeze and drop dead.
We're all herded into a theater where everyone takes a seat. The evil girl is standing up front. We realize we're in a wide vehicle filled with theater seats and the girl is driving.
She chuckles insanely. "If a stone hits you," she screams, "you will die!" And while she's facing away, driving all the theater seats through her nightmare vision, she chucks heavy stones over her shoulder into the audience like hand grenades.
I'm in the third row, middle, and nearby is a cute girl. I try to make conversation as these crazy rocks crash down to knock kids dead in their seats. "Wow, this bites eh?" I say, but this girl is in shock and just stares at me as if numb and dumb. I start to blurt out something else but a stone lands between us.
About this time we pull into a building complex and the evil girl parks our many-seated vehicle off to one side. She's been laughing with psychotic delight this whole time kids were dying right and left, and now she announces she has one final punishment. We're in front of a megachurch or mass congregation center belonging to a strict fundamentalist religious group. Suited men arrive and escort all the children away as if for brainwashing, until I'm all alone in the seats. I get up wearing just a white toga. A man arrives to take me away. He insists togas are not allowed. Well, I tell him, it's all I have, but he takes me in anyway.
Inside, the kids are all getting preached to about the fiery punishment of hell and how they must live their lives like puritans and so forth. Many of them are already freaked out of their minds. I slip off to one side.
The building interior resembles a warehouse. I stroll into an area with large bins of produce. A shriveled old manager arrives and instructs me to start peeling vegetables. He pulls a switchblade from his pocket and an apple from a bin. Crudely he starts peeling the apple, gouging it sometimes or barely scraping the surface other times. Finished, he holds up the mangled apple and indicates a bin of cucumbers. I tell him I need a peeler, pantomiming the ease and speed of using such a handy utensil. There's no peeler, he says. Then I ask how much this job pays. He's annoyed by this and says it's my duty to serve. Obviously he is used to having his orders obeyed. I tell him I won't do this work without getting paid and abruptly he storms off.
Next to the bins this fellowa Mormon I knew from many years ago (he would be here)is standing, staring vacuously into space. Tucked under his arm is a bible. "Hey, how are you?" I say, but he does not respond. "Um, hello?" Still no answer. "You don't have much to say do you?" I'm trying to provoke a response from him so I ramble on about how some people don't have much to say because they simply don't think.
Other people have gathered around us, including my sister Summer, and I make a short speech about how we all need to think and question what people feed us and force us to believe. I conclude with "We're all pretty stupid. I'm stupid too. We all need to think more." Yeah, a lame speech but a small group of lightly buzzing people have gravitated. Now I'm the center of attention. The fellow I had originally addressed turns slowly and opens his bible, laying it on a table in front of us. He points to the concluding paragraphs of one of the books. Each paragraph ends with reference numbers and symbols that correlate to sentences in finer print. He points to some copyright dates at the end. "If the bible is so old, why is it copyrighted in 1963?" he asks. I suggest that perhaps the notes are newer commentary which is probably the copyrighted info, and he seems satisfied with that.
About this time a suited official comes over and silently tacks up two small flyers on a shelf a few feet away, near my sister. One warns people not to question the teachings of the church or the time-tested source material. The other says that my sister and I are wanted as terrorists. We chuckle at that, until we see some beefy security guys approaching.
Running through the building I grab a sturdy 8-foot wooden dowel much like a bo, with some feathers and a large arrowhead at the end. We emerge into a grassy area surrounded by an evergreen forest. A group of people are loitering about. They say they are outcasts. In the group are a couple of very attractive girls. One is wearing a violet-blue dress with lovely frills. We smile at each other. I feel compelled to show off to her. So I start twirling this long dowel with both hands, in front of me, then over my head. Then I'm doing some amazing kung-fu kicks, jumps and elaborate slicing with the dowel like a b?jutsu master. After a couple minutes of this the bo catches on a root and the bottom foot splinters. I come to rest in the prone position wondering how I can shear off the damaged section.
Fluttering down from above with sun shining through the fabric is the violet-blue dress with the frills. I look up and see the attractive girl has changed her dress to match the other girl's. They almost seem like identical twins.
Then my sister says we have to hurry and get out of here before they come get us. So we hop up and jump into a car. As we're speeding away I wake up…