| Dreams | A Experiment with Voice

The piece here is made as a introduction to a lad whom killed his wife and ten children out in the country. Nightmares have haunted him throughout the night, and if this were made into a story I'd either choose to showcase his life as it always had been before a sudden change or have it start at a turning point right from the beginning. The main focus for the piece was to pick up a voice that carries the tone necessary for a individual like this though, and here is the result.
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When you dream, what is it you dream of?

The needs of the living or the white picket fence?

The cravings of the filthy or the lies you make up in bed?

These dreams, filtered under some guise of chaos, translate via the brain into a solid mass of visual teasing. Who do you call in your slumber? God, Man, or Devil? No one knows. Not you, not me. Normally we forget, normally we don't want to remember. I'm saturated by sweat with my feet bare to the floor. Soft scrape by scrape along I go and to the bathroom door. The air is dry and I can feel the grinding, my broken flesh rubbing blood between my toes. I'm yet to be conscious, but my mind grants me my hands.

Wet, Soap, Rub, Rinse, and Dry. I'm on auto pilot and blind. When I come to gaze on myself, I find a grizzly man staring back at me, hues and all blown by the light above. I squint, allowing the light to settle down and there I see my fuzzy self. Take a seat, I do, and I give treatment to where its needed. With bandages to seal, I test my work and find it stiff.

"That will do."

Return to my bed, I check the time, and I managed 4 a.m. before all the dread. I've managed to ease further and further in, but it’s been years since I was last proper. I can't recall, no, I don't want to recall in one dive. Unable to sleep, I make way to the kitchen and start the pots, pans, and that jazz score with the radio station. Had to light the fire, match and flint, which got the log cabin heated quick. Next, I had to tell myself, what you need is a dozen eggs, slices of bread, and peanut butter. Don't forget the Jelly too. Listen to the music drift in the empty space, follow the rhythm. Crack the shell on that frying pan, dump, fry, flip, and lay the mass to rest in your plate. Repeat eleven more times in eleven more plates and its all good. Spread the bread into couples, then slap the jelly to one side and peanut butter to the other. Ease the eggs into the jelly, dunk the peanut butter side, and there is breakfast.  Just remember, they are always watching. Always. They know, so I always got to make sure that breakfast crafting is nice and solid. Nice and Solid, I say. They are always watching. Always. Always making sure its the perfect twelve.