Who knows where stories come from? Who knows where dreams come from? This is a dream I had recently and wrote it all down upon waking up.
Two dreams simultaneously as dreamt and recalled by Christopher Michael Carter
My wife and I are in what we assume to be my brother and sister-in-laws basement sleeping on a mattress on the floor. There’s a TV playing some type of monster movie. The volume is low so it doesn’t wake my wife. Nosy, I start going through the bookshelves on the opposite side. There are small hardbound books that appear to be made of letters and such from the hosts’ of the house. I start going through them while also going through my phone trying to find what’s going on with Tourniquet (a comic book I'm working on with artist Dennis Magnant).
I walk into a Chinese restaurant with a couple of guys. They’re my crew apparently though I don’t really see who they are. Upon walking in there’s an old man on the outside of the counter talking to the cashier/host. He doesn’t look at me and we keep walking to the far end of the bar.
While looking through the hardbound book of letters loud sound is coming out. There’s a video on one of the pages and I look for the volume on the side of the book to turn it down so it doesn’t wake my wife. Sure enough on the side of the book are volume buttons like on a phone and I turn it down. The monster movie continues to play on the TV. I keep looking through my phone which has projected like a holographic screen while still going through the book of letters.
In the Chinese restaurant I go back to one of the men at the front door and I’m having harsh words with them. He’s yelling at me while pointing. I grab a chopping block on a counter at the front door and show it to him asking him if he wants the chopping block, assuming he gets my drift. The old man shoots me a dirty look while revealing a large knife from his long coat. I pay him no attention and go back to my boys at the end of the bar. I see the old man talking to a couple of thuggish guys; must be security. One of the large suited men starts walking back towards us in an intimidating strut.
I’m trying to find what’s going on with Tourniquet when I keep finding that Dennis backed out completely and I can’t get a hold of him. He’s shut me out and cut me off completely. There’s so much of what I’m seeing on the holographic display that I don’t really understand. I’m digging through the numbers and random sites and message boards like I was digging through an old junk drawer.
The large man in a nice suit approaches me at the bar with my crew behind me. Without hearing him out I reveal a large knife of my own and stick it in his groin and pull up. With him disposed I walk down to the old man at the end of the bar, clearly the owner and quite the strong entity around here. He looks nervous and he seems to lose all of his bravado as I near him. I put his hands on a marble chopping block on the bar in front of him. He’s squirming and muttering something in Chinese.
In the bed next to my wife I have a knife to the toes on my right foot.
I give the small man a speech about how much I enjoy the number ten; how universal it is. I cut a finger off of his right hand and then cut the same finger off of his left.
In the bed next to my wife I cut a toe off of my right foot. It’s painful and blood spills profusely. I sling the toe off to the side.
I continue to cut the fingers off of the hands of the little man. Blood covers the chopping block. Everyone watches. He cries.
I keep cutting the toes off of my foot beside my sleeping wife. It hurts so bad and when I sling the toes off to the side blood splatters on the white blanket.
Just like my toes, the man’s fingers continue to come off. Everyone’s afraid of me and this small man’s powerful image is gone. A large noise is heard from my left at the entrance of the Chinese restaurant. Monsters, the very monsters from the TV that’s on beside the bed, bust in. Everyone panics.
I cut my last toe off on my right foot when my wife asks, “Honey, what are you doing?”
I wake up.