a dream i had | "i saw red again"

okay, the following is taken directly from a dream i had, so if something in it is factually incorrect, or doesn't make sense, big deal. dreams don't always make sense.

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my family and i were all home, and helping prepare dinner. mother was peeling potatos, father was preparing the roast. i was cutting kernels of corn and green beans.

then we heard a knock at the door. father put the roast down and went to the door and talked to the visitor for a moment. neither mother or i could see the front door from the kitchen.

"who is it, dear?" yelled mother.

"uhh... honey, it's bruce hitler." dad yelled.

mother shot me a strange look and started washing her hands. before i could stop what i was doing a short man with long hair and a funny little moustache and dressed in messy military fatigues walked into the room, followed by two similarly dressed men with shaved heads, and father in tow.

yep, it was bruce hitler. he's the lesser-known younger brother of adolph. he's been rallying his rag-tag band of local toughs ever since his brother died. some say it drove him off the edge. all i know is that he's got this town in a grip of fear.

"we're very honored to have you in our humble home, mr. hitler!" my mother said with a surprising sincerity. i could see by the look on father's face that they were afraid of what might happen if bruce hitler was angered.

"it's not much of a home, is it? " he replied. "i mean, look at this dump! the entire interior is painted this drab olive green. the moulding is falling away. the floor boards are rotting away. is this what you'd imagined for yourself when you were children?".

my mother looked down at her feet - no maybe she looked down at her womb, while father looked down at his hands and rubbed them together, with a look of disgrace on his face.

"i didn't think so." bruce continued.

"how do you want this young son of yours to live when he grows up?" he sneered.

"we want him to have more than we ever dreamed of..." father yelped, in a castrated tone.

i could see mother tearing up from what father had just said. at first i thought it was because she was touched by the notion, but i soon realized why she was really starting to cry. she realized why bruce hitler was really here. and so did i...

"i'm willing to place your son a place in my fast-growing force. he'll be paid more money than he's ever seen in one place..." once again, bruce looked around at our furnishings with disgust on his face "and he'll even have enough money to send a little home every week to his mumma and papa. it's hard work, and it's not pretty work, but it will make a man out of him. what do you think of that, father? mother?" he said.

"hard work never hurt anyone..." father nervously spoke. i could see that he was stretching to put a positive light on this sitution.

mother was still looking down at her womb. now she was sobbing. i was beginning to become a little angry.

i didn't want to have anything to do with these thugs. their main source of income was providing "protection" to local jewish businesses, meaning if you paid them 50% of your profits every week, they wouldn't burn your business to the ground.

"you know, i don't know who you think you are, mister..." i said. even though i saw the look of horror on father's face, and mother cried even harder, i couldn't stop yelling. i was irate. "maybe no one told you, but your brother is dead.".

bruce's two soliders reached for their guns, but bruce yelled "STOP! let him talk..."

"you can't come in here and tell us we live in a shithole and then ask me to help you in your pathetic schemes..." i rambled.

"and why not? it's not even like i'm asking you to do anything wrong. they're just jews. god spat upon them when they were created. they're no better than dogs..." he arrogantly and ignorantly barked.

"you've got to be joking me." i replied. by now father was sitting down looking at the floor and mother was shaking her head from side to side covering her mouth and looking straight into my eyes. "they're decent, hard-working people who love their children, and their fellow man. they're no worse than you or i... well, maybe they're better than you... at least they don't steal from others and justify it due to the victim's race..."

mother covered her eyes, and father sprang to his feet.

"mr hitler, let me talk to the boy. he's obviously been listening to his mother too often..." father quickly proposed. he shot me a knowing glance while bruce looked back at his thugs just to nod at them to signify that this was alright, and that they were to stand at ease.

"yes, please, do talk some sense into this boy." hitler agreed.

father grabbed me by the arm and took me all the way to the living room of the house.

"father!" i yelled at him. "what are you doing? 'listening to mother'? "talk some sense into me'? you're not buying this bullshit, are you?".

"of course not, son, of course not. i just had to play their game to keep you from getting your fool self killed!" he whispered.

well, why'd you bring me out here, then?" i asked him.

"so you could run!" he replied.

"run? RUN? are you kidding?! they'll find me, and  before they do, you and mother will die, and everything we own will be burned!" i said, exasperated.

"what else is there to do? your mother and i don't want you to get involved with this nonsense!" he said.

"i don't know, father, but running is simply not an option..." i said, feeling rather cornered.

"i know! there's a gun right here in the living room in the wooden box on the mantle!" he said.

"are you crazy? you think you can shoot all three of them before they shoot you and the rest of us?".

"well, have you got a better idea?" he half yelled/whispered, remembering that mr. hitler and his boys were still here...

i stopped and thought for a moment.

"yeah, i do. you're going to shoot me..." i sheepishly said.

"what? what? shoot you? what?" father feverishly  questioned.

"well, you're not really going to shoot me dead... you'll just have to shoot me in the foot, or something. somewhere that isn't lethal..." i replied.

"why would i shoot you? that's not going to make sense..." he replied.

"you can just tell them that i refused to go, and you told me i had to go. i tried to get the gun and shoot you, and when you tried to take the gun away from me, i was accidentally shot. we're going to need blood to make this look real..." i said.

"you're crazy, you know that? but i love you. so if you really think this will work, i'll do it... oh my god... i hope your mother will forgive me... she's going to faint, you know. she might even drop dead... her poor weak heart..." father stared off into the distance as he spoke.

"well, as morbid as this sounds, father, 'might die' is a lot better than 'will die'." i replied, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking deeply into his eyes.

"you're right, you're right... you really want to do this?" he asked.

"yes." i quickly replied.

i walked back towards the wall and put my arms out to the side. i heard a bang, and everything went red. i felt myself crumple to the floor as though my head was a cinder block and my body was made of feathers.

when i started to come to, all i saw was a black boot in front of my face. i felt a pain in my shin. "good aim, pops." i thought. through a squinted eye i looked up and saw bruce hitler and his thugs asking father what had happened.

mother had indeed fainted. they had apparently placed her in a chair in the living room next to an open window just past where i was lying in blood.

i heard father say the word "dead" a few times, and i could see bruce pointing in my direction.

then i realized that they weren't pointing at me, and father was saying "dead wife".

i was in too much physical pain to cry, but my eyes started watering.

then, without warning i heard a gun shot. then father fell to the floor.

now i was too angry and sad for any gunshot in the leg to stifle.

"sir, he's not dead. he must have been in shock." one of the thugs said.

"stand him up." bruce said.

bruces thugs did as they were told.

as they held me up, bruce stepped up face to face with me.

"join!" he said. "you have nothing to live for but yourself, now! this was not to be your end, but your beginning. RISE! and fight with us.".

i noticed that my hand had been laying in the blood pool.

"well?" bruce asked, without patience.

i lifted my bloody hand to my side, looked at the puddle of blood resting in my palm, licked it up, and drew a swastika on my forehead.

bruce and his boys looked back and forth at eachother approvingly.

then, without haste, i sprayed a mixture of salty saliva and blood all over their pig faces.

i saw red again.

It is indeed strange, but didn't we all know it would be when we saw the author of this post? :p

Wasn't it just the other day that you were trying to trick me into thinking that Nazi's had taken over the mid west?


Blood represents hard times and u should try to avoid confrontations with people you are close with.  As for guns, they can be phallic symbols or represent anger and the need for protection.  You mentioned the colour red a couple times....red is a symbol for passion.  Thass all I know off the top of my head.

I thought it was a good piece to read actually, very well written.

You actually dreamt this? Wow...Wicked! But BRUCE Hitler? Come on... and I liked the Negociator-like ending. Well, part of it.
Contraband, can you interpret dreams?

yep. bruce hitler. blame that wacky sleeping mind of mine.

Amor, not really.  I guess I interpret people more.  If someone tells me a dream in real life I can usually connect up a few things and see how it could relate to their current situations.  It's harder when it's written down because you can't see how the person is behaving/reacting when they're saying it, like u can if they are talking to u in person.

I have some books about dreams too which list symbols and give explanations etc that's how I remembered what blood and guns could mean.  But I prefer to just come up with wild and abstract interpretations for people's dreams and I usually come up with the most unlikely thing that they would ever think of, which will then turn out ot be their solution.

If u get what I mean. . .
it's late, i'll prolly read this tomorrow and embarass myself over the poor grammer.

...and spelling...

(grammar)

just pokin' at ya', contra'...

Um...Whoah.

First off: that was damn affecting.

Next, the filter of listening to the Sex Pistols whilst reading it added to the surrealism of the whole thing.

Then, there's the experience of seeing my name with "Hitler" as a suffix, which, I must admit, is a new one for me.  Not sure how I feel about that.

To be honest, dream interpretation is far from my specialty.  My own dreams are horribly pedestrian: doing homework, finding rare records, going to concerts.  The ones which might mean something are few and far between, and I can't even scratch the surface of them.

Dude, you're a better writer than I suspect you think you are.  This, as well as the story that you wrote about yourself, the rich kid and the slutty girl are really well put together.

dude, "birthday whore" was a true story.

i wish i had that saved, somewhere, though.



either way, i attribute anything well-written that comes from my hand to the old saying "every man's got a few good stories in him"...

(Edited by JuggleFoe at 2:40 pm on June 27, 2001)

I knew that "Birthday Whore" was a true story; I just meant that it was a good story.

Everyone does have a few good stories in 'em, it's just a matter of getting them out (preferably with a hacksaw and screwdriver) and expressing them in an interesting fashion.

...And I'm still not so sure that the "Bruce" thing was just a coincidence.  It ain't exactly a common name, y'know.

oh. i just remember their being some confusion as to whether the "rich kid" in "birthday whore" was a real person, or a figment of my imagination when i first posted it back at skag's...

and if i had to link bruce to anything off the top of my head, it might be because i've always been a batman fan, and bruce's last name is my first name.

but that's a long shot.

Ooohh...

Bruce Hitler as a sinister "father of the Superman" (or uberwayne, if you prefer), who shoots the "real" father, just like in Batman, sending our young protagonist on a lifelong journey into darkness, obsession and revenge!

Or something.

Christ, the number of time I was called Bruce Wayne as a kid...

The worst thing was that each person who called me that acted as if it was some brilliant brain wave; that they were the only person smart enough to come up with such a brilliant barb.  Bleh.

OK, yeah, I remember what you were saying about the rich kid.  Before you said that it had actually happened, the "rich kid as id/subconcious" idea seemed interesting.

yeah, dude. i got called "bruce wayne" a whole lot when i was a kid, too. it got even worse when "wayne's world" got popular. i have an uncle named garth, too. belive that.

dude, have you ever read "batman: holy terror"?

i have a strange feeling you'd like it. casts an image of superman as jesus.

seriously.

Huh.  Wow.  I'll have to ask some of my comic-collecter friends about that.  Sounds groovy.

BTW, the only other Bruce I've met in my entire life was this guy in one of my classes a couple of semesters ago.

His full name?

Bruce Lee.

No foolin'.

yeah, bruce lee might have been a master of the martial arts, but he's no match for the most kick ass bruce of all time, pound for pound...

bruce-io mcculloch!

author of... the terrier song!

gee, i sure wish i could get some more feedback on this dream/story...

*HINT*HINT*