04/26/04
I dreamt of the rest stop last night. I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to pee, and as my bladder squeezed itself empty, I ran the dream through the higher realms of my mind.
I stood impatiently in line. The people disgusted me, trapped me there on that line. I was unable to reach the fast food sustenance, the poisoned treat for all happy cancer mutants. I was equally unable to back out of my purchase of the once desired death meals. I was committed to fulfilling my duty as a consumer, unparalleled in laziness, cheapness and disdain for my healthy well being. I began to seethe with hatred for those around me, blaming them for my inability to leave this doomed transaction of corporate consumer hell.
I opened the bottom buttons of my rumpled suit jacket, and then drove my fist into the lower back of the bastard directly in front of me. My grip found its way under his chin and it pulled him straight back. He fell to his knees, helpless before me in a false penitence of fear. I knew him instantly. The bully.
He was a bastard and deserved getting taken down. I did it for everyone that he pushed around and shoved so we wouldn't question his absolute authority. This fascist bastard, with his insecurity lying exposed like the Achilles heel it is, was ripe and ready to be knocked down a peg. It simmered inside, boiling and rising like smoke, drunk on the awesome power of control, you were pushed too far.
His weak spots exposed to you, struck and pierced every single one, relinquishing him of that shred of power he had hoarded away. Complete and utter destruction of this being was necessary and just. At least it felt that way at the time. But then you felt pity. For him and yourself. Shame, for allowing the power to be used, and so brutally to one so obviously weak. Who was the bully? The one addicted to this moment. I was sick, repulsed at the pride, the joy of obliteration and domination.
He had his revenge in a surprise attack that would forever keep me in my archetype of the coward. My ribs made the noise one would hear while cracking the knuckles of every finger on both hands. Shoulders slumped forward, concave chest. Instantly I had been given the demeanor of the fearful and lazy. Wallowing in the shame, I was left wide open to retaliation. Deprived of my throne, I had to finish out the role of the coward, but he took with him the humbled ego of a Liar King.
And now he was defenseless before me, ready for my judgment.
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