Avril, Fido, And The Little Brown Book
"I am fairly sure that if they took porn off the internet, there would only be one website left, and it would be called 'bring back the porn'."
I had an extremely strange dream last night. It started with me sitting in a re-arranged version of my living room. There were several other people with me that I didn't recognise. We were watching TV. Presently, Avril Lavigne walked in and sat down on the sofa beside me. We talked for a while, and it became apparent that I was blatantly chatting her up. She was amenable to this, and before too long we were snuggled up and holding hands.
Then Andrew, a guy I know from websites past that I haven't spoken to in nearly eighteen months, walked into the room. I said my goodbyes to Avril, and Andrew and I left the room, walking out through the door that would usually lead to my hallway. In this case, it lead to an urban wasteland on a freezing winter's night. There were perhaps ten of us, and we were going to see some men to buy weapons from them. I wasn't really sure why, but Andrew was angry with somebody, and in order to even the score, he needed a great deal of weaponry.
We eventually arrived at the foot of a tall building in the centre of a square. Its walls were covered with graffiti, and its windows were shattered. Leaving the others outside, Andrew and I made our way up several flights of stairs to a room that was filled with several large groups of boisterous young men dressed for an evening on the town. Lending credence to this impression was the fact that the room was almost a makeshift pub, with sofas pushed up against the walls and one side given over to a well-stocked bar. Andrew nodded at me and went through a set of double doors opposite those we had entered through. I sat down on one of the sofas.
The next thing that happened was that there was some kind of argument at the bar. The barman began yelling at the participants. At that moment, the double doors burst open and a slim, dark-skinned man with a beard strode through. He was wearing some kind of military uniform and a turban. I knew him, and like everybody else in the room, I was terrified of him. A deathly silence fell.
Fido (in my mind, that was his name) stood there a moment, then said: "Who made a down payment with a card issued in 1994?"
Nobody moved or spoke for several seconds. Then, slowly, a young man seated on the couch beside mine raised his hand. Fido saw the gesture, and his eyes widened.
"Oh shit," someone murmured. "Non-verbal gesture."
Fido reached down into a crate that had suddenly appeared beside him and came up holding a machine gun. Everyone hurled themselves to the ground except for me and the young man with his hand raised. Fido pulled the trigger, and I found myself transfixed by the muzzle-flash that danced at the end of the gun, only peripherally aware of the spastic dance of death the young man beside me was doing as the bullets smashed into his body.
Finally, he stopped firing. The young man slumped slowly to the floor as Fido turned the gun on me.
"The boy upstairs, he is your friend?" he asked.
"Associate," I replied.
"Your associate is dead," he said.
I nodded, and then, remembering the horror in the voice that had mentioned non-verbal gestures, said: "Yes."
"Do you want to complete the transaction?"
"I can't afford to."
"We have taken the payment from your associate."
"Then consider it a gift. I was only along for the ride."
Fido smiled, letting his gaze flicker briefly to the barrel of the gun. "An intelligent boy. Are you afraid?"
"No," I said, aware that all eyes were on us, that there was an air of expectation in the air. Expectation, I realised, of my violent death.
"You believe you'll go to heaven," Fido sneered.
"I don't believe in heaven."
His eyes widened, and I heard several suppressed gasps.
"I'm godless," I said.
His smile widened and he lowered the gun. He reached inside his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a small, brown book. There was no title that I could see.
"Will you read this?" he asked.
We stared at each other for a long, long moment. The tension in the room was palpable.
"No," I said.
"Very intelligent boy!" Fido yelled, and everyone jumped. "We could use a very intelligent boy here. Come back and see me soon."
I nodded. Fido indicated that I should leave with a sweep of his arm. I walked steadily to the door knowing that I was about to be shot in the back.
Then I woke up.
I had an extremely strange dream last night. It started with me sitting in a re-arranged version of my living room. There were several other people with me that I didn't recognise. We were watching TV. Presently, Avril Lavigne walked in and sat down on the sofa beside me. We talked for a while, and it became apparent that I was blatantly chatting her up. She was amenable to this, and before too long we were snuggled up and holding hands.
Then Andrew, a guy I know from websites past that I haven't spoken to in nearly eighteen months, walked into the room. I said my goodbyes to Avril, and Andrew and I left the room, walking out through the door that would usually lead to my hallway. In this case, it lead to an urban wasteland on a freezing winter's night. There were perhaps ten of us, and we were going to see some men to buy weapons from them. I wasn't really sure why, but Andrew was angry with somebody, and in order to even the score, he needed a great deal of weaponry.
We eventually arrived at the foot of a tall building in the centre of a square. Its walls were covered with graffiti, and its windows were shattered. Leaving the others outside, Andrew and I made our way up several flights of stairs to a room that was filled with several large groups of boisterous young men dressed for an evening on the town. Lending credence to this impression was the fact that the room was almost a makeshift pub, with sofas pushed up against the walls and one side given over to a well-stocked bar. Andrew nodded at me and went through a set of double doors opposite those we had entered through. I sat down on one of the sofas.
The next thing that happened was that there was some kind of argument at the bar. The barman began yelling at the participants. At that moment, the double doors burst open and a slim, dark-skinned man with a beard strode through. He was wearing some kind of military uniform and a turban. I knew him, and like everybody else in the room, I was terrified of him. A deathly silence fell.
Fido (in my mind, that was his name) stood there a moment, then said: "Who made a down payment with a card issued in 1994?"
Nobody moved or spoke for several seconds. Then, slowly, a young man seated on the couch beside mine raised his hand. Fido saw the gesture, and his eyes widened.
"Oh shit," someone murmured. "Non-verbal gesture."
Fido reached down into a crate that had suddenly appeared beside him and came up holding a machine gun. Everyone hurled themselves to the ground except for me and the young man with his hand raised. Fido pulled the trigger, and I found myself transfixed by the muzzle-flash that danced at the end of the gun, only peripherally aware of the spastic dance of death the young man beside me was doing as the bullets smashed into his body.
Finally, he stopped firing. The young man slumped slowly to the floor as Fido turned the gun on me.
"The boy upstairs, he is your friend?" he asked.
"Associate," I replied.
"Your associate is dead," he said.
I nodded, and then, remembering the horror in the voice that had mentioned non-verbal gestures, said: "Yes."
"Do you want to complete the transaction?"
"I can't afford to."
"We have taken the payment from your associate."
"Then consider it a gift. I was only along for the ride."
Fido smiled, letting his gaze flicker briefly to the barrel of the gun. "An intelligent boy. Are you afraid?"
"No," I said, aware that all eyes were on us, that there was an air of expectation in the air. Expectation, I realised, of my violent death.
"You believe you'll go to heaven," Fido sneered.
"I don't believe in heaven."
His eyes widened, and I heard several suppressed gasps.
"I'm godless," I said.
His smile widened and he lowered the gun. He reached inside his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a small, brown book. There was no title that I could see.
"Will you read this?" he asked.
We stared at each other for a long, long moment. The tension in the room was palpable.
"No," I said.
"Very intelligent boy!" Fido yelled, and everyone jumped. "We could use a very intelligent boy here. Come back and see me soon."
I nodded. Fido indicated that I should leave with a sweep of his arm. I walked steadily to the door knowing that I was about to be shot in the back.
Then I woke up.
posted by Michael at 6:57 PM
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