Monday, March 30, 2015

Murder by Proxy

In the dream I'm a tall, reedy, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties, and I'm at the mall to buy shirts. But as my fingers stroll through a rack of shirts, there are screams from outside the store; I turn my head to see a huge fat man carrying a bundle of dynamite, and there is madness in his eyes.

Shoppers scatter as the man gibbers with insane laughter, but they're not fast enough; the dynamite explodes, and shredded bodies paint shop windows. I run into the mall, slipping on blood, joining other shoppers in terrified disbelief as more suicide bombers appear, all with the aspect of madness, all carrying lit dynamite. The bombers run to and fro, trying to distribute themselves in the densest part of the teeming crowds, doing their best to explode at the moment that will guarantee maximum carnage.

I duck into a utility corridor, panting, but before I can process my relief I feel an alien, mechanical intelligence insinuate itself into my mind. A network of printed circuits paints itself onto my arms, and my vision shifts, as if I can see infrared, ultraviolet. I find myself forced to walk back into the mall proper. There are still suicide bombers, but now I see them as they truly are; not mad, but calculating. One turns to me.

"Ah, you're one of us now," he says.

And he passes me a bundle of dynamite. 

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