Impulse

Chrysalis

It’s not often that I wake up with my wits completely gone and I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream of me being chained to a bed.

This definitely has the absurd elements to be a bad dream, considering that this room looks more like the inside of a cave and this cold ass draft is fucking with my sinus’s.

I pull at my arms and expect for them to fall apart because if this is dream then I can morph into this superhuman person and bend this illusion to my will.

To my astonishment I remain chained with a sharp pain shooting through my right arm as reinforcement that this dream is not under my command.

Maybe I’m in someone else’s dream?

What’s that Freudian crap that my ex tried to pump me with back in our sophomore year of college?

Dreams are an expression of a repressed wish?

I thrash against the chains and realize all too soon that I’m not actually laying on a bed, I’m laying on a sheet covered table.

Why would I dream of this?

Correction: Why the hell would I want this? Excusing the strangeness of this dream it could actually work if there was a sexy man wearing nothing but a pair of boxers crawling towards my unchained body on this table. That would definitely work, a little kinky but every girl has a fantasy and a nearly naked Leonardo di caprio/jesse Williams/taye diggs/Michael ealey or the late heath ledger (rest his sexy soul) is my fantasy.

But this right here? This is NOT hot.

To make matters worse I feel the most uncanny breeze and wonder again why I’m so damn cold. My hands reach out as far as they can, the gentle cold isn’t enough to make me feel this frigid, this frozen. There’s a blue glow somewhere close, in my lower right peripheral, a little beyond my limited view of the cavernous ceiling colored an ominous black with deep grooves and welts from what I can see thanks to the glow.

I shouldn’t be so cold.

 I lift my head slightly and attempt to tuck the base of my chin into my collar bone, support my tender(?) elbows against what I assume to be a hard surface and pull myself up as much as I can against the chains.

One thing is for certain; I am chained, and I’m chained to a table covered with what’s probably a thin black table clothe because it feels rough to my naked(?) arms and elbows.

Wasn’t I wearing a long sleeved sweatshirt earlier?

A soreness springs up in my ribs, pain shoots up my side and my hands feel hot and raw. I press my palms against the scratchy material of the sheet and wince.

The blue glow is in the far right and it’s coming from what looks like a lava lamp, but the color isn’t constant, it switches from a blood red to a ocean blue and beside that atop a silhouette of a table sit’s a massive blob and what appears to be a knife embedded in the very top to the hilt.

All around me this room screams murder. The tables, the blobby figures, the knifes, the ominous figures tucked into the corners of the massive cavern, the only light coming from the blue and red glow of what appears to be a lava lamp.

Then I notice my feet, as dark as they are the adolescent electric blue on my toenails makes me tense up. My eyes move up over my legs, my palms my thighs, my pelvis, my chest and I scream.

I don’t have any clothes on!

What the hell?

Now I know that some crazy guy has kidnapped me and intends on slicing me from head to toe with that scalpel over there and then butchering me with that knife over there.