Close your eyes

The ticking of the clock sounds like a metronome, pushing the pace faster and faster. My pulse rises with every beat, tic, tic, tic.

In front of me, my work screen shines brighter than ever, highlighting all the missed work emails, memos, and failed replies. One thousand twenty one unread emails flash their disdain for my inability to keep up. I watch the number continuing to rise. I open, read, respond....send. Open, read, respond ...send. They keep coming. My phone rings, daring a glance I see line one light up, then line two, then three....then fourteen. Since when did I have fourteen lines? The red flashes strobe on and off like an Amsterdam brothel, now serving number.....

No matter how hard I try my arms no longer move. I try to scream for help, but my voice sounds like a rooster in heat. My head, hot and heavy, like a marshmallow dipped in molten chocolate, while my ears ring out music from a ‘Korn’ concert. My manager stares with a blank face, shaking his head. In slow motion, his mouth moves but the only sound I hear is the voice of Charlie Browns teacher. Forcing myself to finish my work I focus on the monitor again. I want to go home, surely the workday is over....tic...tic...

Instead, I watch rain pouring down the screen, wipers squeak a monotonous rhythm back and forth. The keyboard is now a steering wheel, I'm freak'n driving an Amazon van, I don't know how I know, I just am.

A ladies voice, sounding exhausted repeats, 'you're behind schedule...you're behind... pick up your pace, people are waiting for their delivery....faster.' The screen on the truck is loaded with orders, addresses flashing times in red. My outfit is soaked, but I stop, grab a package, jump out, run to a house down the longest driveway in existence. My feet move so slow, I'm trying to run with short little legs. I’m driving down foreign roads in the dark, every house blacked out, they all look the same. I've never worked for Amazon, but I order shit all the time. Am I that poor delivery bastard, working his ass off so Judy can get her new hair weave on time?

Google maps yells out ‘recalculating....recalculating,’ because I failed to take the exit, she is so angry with me for fucking up. Distracted, I miss a turn and fly off the road, over an embankment. I'm flying in the night, amongst a flock of geese all wearing tuxedo's. I swear one looks at me, honks then gives me a feathered finger.

I begin to fall.

The landing is rough, spinning out of control I roll until my progress is abruptly halted. My hands are gripping something so tight my knuckles crack. I'm pushing an overly large shopping cart, full of oversized boxes of cornflakes, large jars of olives, I hate olives. Also, I have enough toilet paper to wipe the derriere's of an entire family of six for two years. Standing behind an endless line of people all pushing giant carts twice the size of cars, we trudge along, shuffle, step, stop. The lady in front of me turns and starts screaming at me...'You're to close... six feet asshole...six feet back.' Then her beady eyes pop out of her head as she alerts the world. 'He isn't wearing a mask...he isn't wearing a mask...'

I try explaining to her it isn't mandatory anymore; the pandemic is over. But cartoon bubbles, with my words written in ink come out of my mouth and float above my head. Soon my world turns into a Sunday comic strip. I find myself cornered in an office being reprimanded by ancient cartoon characters, Cathy and Dilbert telling me to hurry and get back to my desk. I don't want to because that is where all the emails are. Suddenly our paper office crumples, and I fold like a husband who lost another argument. There is a feeling of being tossed in the air once more.

As my eyes begin to focus, I find myself looking down upon people dressed in their Sunday best, which makes sense as I appear to be in church. All eyes are upon me. The aging priest, calling everyone brother, tries ripping his collar off but fails miserably, shakes his head. Soon everyone begins staring at me, whispering. My arms and legs refuse to move, trying to figure out why, I realize I am crucified to a cross, draped in flags of different countries. I feel blood trickling down my face. Everyone is pointing, children crying, adults weeping. My family turns and walks away in disgust. Turning my head, I try calling to them, then see my reflection in the window...I'm wearing a MAGA hat.

I scream..."No, I'm Canadian, I can't vote in your election."

Suddenly the people in the room beginning morphing into elephants and donkeys, in a mad frenzy they rush each other. Trampling and kicking, dust fills the air until I see nothing.

Soon the sounds of sirens echo in the air and missiles rain down from blood red skies. The sirens, now sounding like a hyena's laugh, continue to wail... I hear my name called.

"Jason...Jason, Wake up. Your alarms going off, it's time for work."

Hearing the gentle patter of rain outside I groggily reply. "No, no... I'm retired. You can't make me go back to work. I don't want to get outta bed."

In a sexy morning voice, I hear. ”Mmmn, okay big boy, if we are staying in bed all day what would you like to do?"

Smiling I roll over, lifting the covers oh so gently. I stop breathing, then scream uncontrollably while a flabby orange man in my bed stares lustily towards me. And what the hell is he eating….Where’s fluffy?

****************************************

I mean no offense to anyone’s political views; it is just an observation of the times. This is a reflection of how real-life seeps into our dreams and morphs into some strange vision, helping us cope with reality.

I decided to go on the lighter side with this challenge.

Cheers and have a great day.

Jason