Upon A Star

Wish Upon a Star
Peter woke in the morning with a start. There had been football players charging around the field. They were wielding baseball bats and machetes. They heads of their opponents littered the field, slowly getting ground into the soft, dark earth. Blood was pooling around the sprinkler heads. His own face was a mask of pain; blood flowed freely from several wounds and scab hung loosely over sores. “What can be done?” he had thought. “Nothing” came the reply. “Nothing.”

Then Peter awoke with a start. The rest of the day passed without incident. Peter prepared for bed. This was the part he hated. Lying down, feeling the cool touch of the pillow and knowing that the morning would bring no rest. Knowing that there is no escape from dreams that do not terrify. They do not fill him with fear or doubt or disgust. He hates the feeling of enjoying these dreams.

He was sitting with his family around the dinner table. There was a large salad on the table. People began to eat. Just below the outer surface of lettuce flowed a river of pale flesh. He and his family fell to with gusto. They ate and ate. It soon became apparent that this meat, this flesh, was in fact human leg. He stopped eating, but his family and friends kept at it. They voracious appetites would not be checked by so mean a thing as cannibalism. It was an orgy of consumption. The blood soon began to flow. First from the corners of their mouths, then from the chandelier and the walls. The pictures on the wall stared out with hungry eyes and licked their monochromatic lips. Peter sat in a corner in a ball.

He awoke in a ball. Curled up with the blankets stripped from the bed. The yellow glow of the sun brought little comfort to his cold and clammy skin. Even his shower did not warm him. He stepped out into another sunny, tiresome day.

Once again, nighttime approached.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he vanished. He walked slowly along a busy street until he saw what he was looking for. A little girl, perhaps 12 years old was playing with a yo-yo. He waited until he heard her name, then approached.

‘Camille. I’m your uncle Francis visiting from out of town. Your mother told me I could come pick you up and we could get some ice cream.’

Peter was horrified at what he was saying, but he could not stop. And what he was saying was nothing compared to what he did. He again awoke terrified and shocked by the depravity he had witnessed.

Makes No Difference Who You Are…

Peter emerged from his house and stared up at the sky. The infinite blueness stared right back at him. Overwhelmed by what he saw and felt, he fell. He lay on the grass as the sun arched overhead and paused directly overhead. He wished. He looked deep into the closest, most brilliant star and he wished to never have such dreams again. He kept staring. He felt a warm glow on the back of his eyeballs. The scorching, purifying heat propagated outward, cleansing his eyes of the pollution of sight. He felt free somehow. The burden of knowledge was lifted from him. His phone rang somewhere off in another world.

Peter staggered to his feet, felt himself tilt wildly and landed back on the grass. He crawled to the door of his house. It was locked. He fumbled for the keys. He couldn’t tell which one would open the door. It was just a jumble of metal in his hand. He tried them one after another and finally made it inside. The message machine was talking.

“… So I think Gerald will be able to pick you up around eight and we’ll finally have the whole family together. It’ll be good to see you.”

Peter fumbled for the phone. He couldn’t find it. The whole room was different in the dark.

“Alright. Well I hope everything is going well. Wee you then.”

Peter found the couch and crawled up onto it. He curled up and did not dream.

There was a knock on the door. Peter awoke with a start. His cousin Gerald’s voice said something Peter couldn’t understand. He opened his eyes and could make out some small patches of light off in the distance. He found his feet and maneuvered toward the door. He opened it and felt a tingle on his eyeballs as the excess light flooded around his damaged retinas. Gerald grabbed him in a bear hug and escorted him toward the car.

“Are you okay? What’s up man? You’re stumbling all over yourself.”

“I’m fine… I just woke up so I’m a little groggy.”

“Okay. Hey, did you catch the game last night? I got us tickets to the playoffs. My boss had some family emergency so he can’t go. He gave me the tickets.”

Peter felt trapped. The car moved inexorably closer to the feast and somehow Peter knew it wasn’t going to be fun seeing his family.

By the time they got the the house, Peter could distinguish light and dark spots and even had a bit of depth perception returning.

He managed to make it up the stairs with a minimum of fumbling. The family was already gathered around the table.

“Peter! Come here, sit next to Aunt Marie. She made this fabulous brisket… Or whatever this is. It’s simply marvelous. You must try it.”
It felt like deja vous, but worse. He sat at the table and could only faintly make out the shape of the leg on the table. It would have been rude not to try it. He hate a bite. Everyone was watching him. He chewed and tried to smile. Suddenly everyone was eating. There was the usual conversation… smidgens of family gossip. New jobs and adventures. And a human femur protruding ominously from carefully sliced and marinated leg flesh.
The time passes like a blur. Nothing was real. It took fifteen years for the food to disappear and the crows to begin to dissipate. Gerald gave him a lift home. His vision wasn’t much better.
“I’ll pick you up at nine. Kickoff is at noon.”
A bolt of terror struck through Peter. He found himself speaking.
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at nine.”
“Alright! And hey… I don’t know what’s wrong, but whatever it is, I hope you feel better. “
Peter closed the door and wandered vaguely in the direction of his room. He fell on the bed and dreamed of nothing. Blessed nothing.
His alarm woke Peter at eight. He got dressed and hate a light breakfast. Gerald, true to his word, showed up at nine ready and raring to go. They made it to the stadium without incident. The game started and proceeded normally.
“What inspired your boss to give you these tickets?”
“Apparently his daughter is mission. He’s talking with police and running a search and stuff. No time for the game, obviously.”
Peter felt the world shrink. He felt the sky grow closer, more blue. Blasts of electricity in his brain released images. Walking down the street, seeing her, the conversation, the brief walk to his house. Her…
Halftime.
The band came out and played. Then they yielded… Yielded isn’t the right word. They fled. One team charged the field with helmets and baseball bats. The other team had knives and cruel smiles. Some people in the crowd started cheering. Gerald stood up and threw some peanuts a the field. One of the players, now combatants, turned and charged them. Peter ducked the bat swing but wound up crawling on the ground around the stands as the crowd rushed to their feet and surged around. He tried to make it to his feet, but with his blurred vision, the noise, confusion and people around him, he only managed to roll onto the grass. He saw someone’s face next to his, empty eyes staring out. Nothing below the bridge of the nose. No body. Peter vomited. He staggered to his feet. He limped out of the stadium away from the cheering crowd and made it to Gerald’s car. He didn’t have the keys. He found north and headed toward his home, terrified of what he might find there.
He made it shortly after nightfall and collapsed into bead. He dreamed of nothing.

Your Dreams Come True.

Awakening, his vision was again clear. Somehow his retinas healed themselves. He walked to the closet. He opened the door and rummaged around.
He pulled out a gym bag. He knew what was inside, though he’d never seen it before. He could feel her small soft body inside. He put it on the front porch, then went inside and called the police. He walked out the back door and lay down on the grass. He stared up at the sky again, feeling the sun rise higher. He stared deep into the bright corona and made a wish. Nothing. That’s what he wished for. A deep and overwhelming nothing.