3. The middle finger

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I - lie in my bed. Next to me slumbers my spouse. Between us, our eldest daughter sprawls wide, with arms and legs extended, snoring peacefully. At the foot of the bed, the youngest one sleeps, tucked in a corner with crumpled sheets under her belly, softly breathing in her dreams.

I awoke suddenly, sharply, without the usual morning drowsiness. I blink my eyes, surveying the surroundings, trying to fully grasp my existence in this new space. A white ceiling. Silence. Outside, dawn unfolds, illuminating the sky with its first rosy rays.

The morning breeze, half from the open window, chills my body uncomfortably. Yet, I find myself soaked with sweat. The images from the dream still linger before my eyes, where monstrous creatures attacked us, and the sound of shattering windows and broken glass still rings in my ears. Right here, in this apartment. Precisely here...

I recall my nightmare and reconstruct every detail with astonishing precision. The vividness of these images is etched in my memory, as if it weren't a dream but reality itself. Never have I experienced such dreams, so vivid and indistinguishable from waking life, not in my entire forty years.

Any kind of dream, but never like this. Not even during times of great fatigue or strong emotions. Not in childhood, when I soared and grew. Not even in adolescence, with the first stirrings of erotic dreams. This nightmare was entirely different. It was hauntingly real.

Perhaps I am losing my mind. They say only schizophrenics have colored dreams. And my dream was undoubtedly in color! Oh yes, in vivid color! Like a Super 5D IMAX with virtual reality immersion.

I reach for my iPhone on the bedside table and check the time. 7:15 in the morning, May 15, 2019.

May 15... 2019...

These numbers light up in my consciousness. They mean something. Something very important. May 15, 2019.

I try to understand why. What is so significant about these numbers...?

Then, it dawns on me, and I recall the first television report I watched on TV in my dream. The steppe. Astronauts. Sweating faces. Coughing. And the date - May 15, 2020. Yes-yes! Exactly! Exactly one year from today!

What a strange coincidence. What a peculiar nightmare...

I cautiously get out of bed, not to wake my loved ones, and decide to jot down my dream on paper while it's still fresh in my memory. Somehow, I sense that it is crucial to write it all down. Every detail. Especially those dates... Yes, the dates... They are the most important!

After a few minutes of rummaging around the apartment in search of paper and pen, and involuntarily looking around in fear, I find a blank sheet of paper among the heap of children's drawings, and I replace the pen with a red pencil. It doesn't matter. I must record everything as quickly as possible. My hand scribbles frantically, reconstructing my entire dream without hesitation or pause, as if my hand moved involuntarily, driven by some unknown force. The reportage, the astronauts, the hospital, the epidemic. The symptoms of infection, coughing, fever, and profuse sweating. The two weeks after which skin irritation, diarrhea, vomiting, hair loss, and coma followed. And two weeks later, awakening in the form of a beast. And how in the end, hope only lay in ourselves...

Having finished, I sigh wearily, alarmed and frightened, yet relieved that I managed to accomplish such an important task.

Then I return to bed, clutching the scribbled piece of paper. There is still an hour left before I have to go to work, so I can steal thirty minutes of sleep. I stretch my legs under the covers, feeling a wave of overwhelming love for my family. And fear that I won't be able to protect them from what might happen. From what I experienced in my nightmare.

And a sickening feeling of heavy foreboding settles in my gut, making my hand clench the scribbled paper in a spasm.

I look at my loved ones. My spouse - a young woman of twenty-six: delicate, tender, slender. She made the reckless decision, as a nineteen-year-old student, to marry me seven years ago, a man thirteen years her senior, burdening herself with the responsibilities and hardships of family life she wasn't prepared for. She sleeps on the edge of the bed, leaving more space for the girls, wrapped in a small child's blanket. Her mouth slightly agape. A vein on her graceful slender neck pulses almost imperceptibly. Her skin seems to glow from within. She is beautiful and vulnerable. I love her endlessly.

My gaze shifts to the children. Two sleeping girls, aged three and five. My little birds. My kittens. My little darlings! I gently stroke their tiny pink feet, soft as rubber, their fingers delicate on their hands, tracing my finger along their button noses.

And as soon as I recall the scene from the nightmare, where I could think of nothing better than to hide them in the bathroom in a futile attempt to protect them from the monsters, my pulse quickens, and my forehead becomes moist.

Tears well up in my eyes from the impotent anger and grief mingled with anxiety and fear. Again and again, I replay my dream from start to finish, trying to grasp its meaning. Until I come to the conclusion that it means exactly what it was - a harbinger! A prediction! A sign! I must heed it and prepare for what it warns. And strangely enough, there is precisely one year to do so!

Let it be madness, absurdity, paranoia. I don't care! If there is even one chance in a million that this was a prophetic dream, then I must be prepared. I have no right to be idle. I must protect my family. I cannot allow anyone to shatter my happiness and trample my life!!! In my hands, it won't be just a kitchen knife when (not if) the bell rings; the gateway to my kingdom will be guarded by something far more formidable than a cheap entrance door. They messed with the wrong person, fuckers!!!

I am an ancient Greek warrior guarding my polis.

I am a green oasis in a sun-scorched desert.

I am Noah's Ark, saving humanity!

I am the unabashed middle finger on the hand that you will all stumble upon!!!

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⏰ Last updated: Jul 27, 2023 ⏰

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