The Nightmare Effect

Chapter Four

        Life basically went back to normal, for about a week, or two. The dreams didn't occur for quite a while, the longest stretch I think I've ever experienced. In the slow creep to my grave, known as daily life, I kinda missed those dreams. In an ironic way, I liked how vivid they were. Sure, there was a shit ton of pain involved, but pain reminds you that you still have an ass worth losing. Does that make me crazy if I like those dreams? Probably does, but what else is new in the world? Another guy shoots up a place and he gets the attention he wants while everyone else argues for a month, or two on why they should question how a crazy fuck like him got a hold of a God damn assault rifle. You don't need to ask an expert to know that shit like that is going to continue to keep happening, regardless if the gun they used was legal, or not. Or maybe it's something else causing the crazies to come out in people. Would a guy go shoot up a place for God if they never heard about him? Hehe, calm down, it was only a little joke. Hypersensitivity is also a stupid problem. By stupid problem, I mean that stupid people are the ones who have the sensitivity while the rest of the world groans and hides their sense of humor. I don't watch comedy specials to get myself culturally educated. I watch them to see how someone makes fun of those cultures. But who am I to say what the world should be like? Oh, yeah, I'm entitled... shit.

        I was at work one day when I noticed a new guy on the payroll. The guy was pretty skinny and young, but had hands like an old man who worked for over thirty years. He strolled up to me when I was eating my lunch.

        "Enjoying a nice lunch?" he asked me.

        I nodded. "It works for what it is."

        "Interesting statement," he took a seat at my table.

        He seemed pretty confident in who he was. "Why's that interesting?"

        He leaned back with a grin, almost like he wanted me to ask that. "What if you were the sandwich? What would you say about yourself? Would it say you're a hard worker, or you just work for what you are?"

        Oh, God, another philosophical college kid. Better play along. "And what am I, exactly?"

        "You, my friend, are a tiny gear in the world of machines. We are the lowest of the low on the corporate ladder and it's the big guys upstairs that keep you here. The government ties you up and the rich pull your pants down and fuck you until you're full of their 401(k) and health insurance benefits. It's the ultimate flaw in the class system of society." He gave me a little grin at the end of his speech.

        A philosophical hippie. Just my luck. I nabbed one of these guys. "You got a point, but aren't you just adding to that corrupt system by working here?"

        He took out a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and gave it to me. "You'll get your answer."

        The paper he gave me had an address written on it. It could have been a fake address for me to go to and then be kidnapped, forced into sex slavery. Well, you can't say it wouldn't be something interesting, at least. He continued talking on and on. I think he forgot about me halfway into his ramblings. He went on about how America stresses people to get college educations, only to find themselves over twenty thousand, or more, in debt. He said it was the ultimate scam of the century, making people pay hundreds of dollars for words in a text book. His dad was apparently a well known anarchist back in the 70s. If you think anarchists are all about blowing up the government, his dad is probably where you got that idea from. According to him, his dad and others took control of two cities in two weeks, but the media refused to cover it to hide the truth. All in all, his dad seems like a swell guy to crack a beer with.