Confessions of a Nightmare

John R. Carter, Sr.
© October 23, 2011

I killed him. He was the most despicable person I can imagine. He never killed anyone himself, but he was probably responsible for the suicide of many others. How is it possible to be constantly in the shadow of someone whose only joy in life is to make you miserable with his taunts, jests, innuendos, and put-downs.

He was my tormentor. He was my archenemy. He was everything that I ever felt was the worst in a human being simply because it did not seem that he had any human compassion whatsoever. He would make everything you did or said look bad. He could turn a saint into a devil.

I was on the job at the Sears department store near the tools section. Two of my coworkers were nearby. They, too, shared in my misery. We lived in the constant fear that he would show up and ruin our day once more. And then, there he was. With hardly a word out of my mouth, he looked at me with his gleaming eyes and wry smile and yanked the remaining joy out of my heart with just a few choice words of his own. I went from feeling peaceful to anger to downright violent in the blink of an eye. This was more than I could take.

With all the fury that I could muster, I swung at him viciously. My striking blow on his chest only seemed to fuel his belittling posture. Still grinning devilishly, he tore at my last remaining sense of humanity. In a frenzy, I pushed him across the aisle into the tools section where I grabbed a portable drill, quickly inserted a small drill bit, turned him around to face away from me, and shoved the drill bit into the base of his skull. Surprisingly, no blood came gushing out of his head. There was just a clean, small hole, yet the drill bit contained the evidence of my dastardly deed.

I did not see him slump to the floor. I simply turned around and went back to my two coworkers with a jubilant confidence that I had eliminated our enemy. As I proclaimed my victory, I noticed one of my coworkers looking over my left shoulder in astonishment and fear. The man I thought I had just killed was standing next to me with that same devilish look and tormenting smile. My coworkers and I now seemed to share in the same one thought of finishing off this menace for good. In a brief struggle, we pushed him across the aisle back into the tools section where I again picked up the drill and, using it like a hammer, began to beat him. The man's flailing arms provided adequate defense and it seemed that my blows were having no effect. At that point, I asked my coworkers to put his arms behind his back and pin them down so that I could have a clear shot at his head. They seem to have no difficulty in doing as I asked. In fact, it seemed that the man was actually compliant in allowing us to end his days. Holding the wrong end of the drill like the handle of a hammer, after several mighty blows of the drill handle to the back of his head I felt even more sure that there could be no life left in that tormenting soul. But the curious thing is that once again I could see no evidence of blood.

As my dream turned into waking consciousness, I became aware of one chilling thought: I had at last committed in a dream the one act that I never thought I was capable of. And somehow, there is that nagging thought that this dream will play out again another night because the real menace had not been vanquished. My Dragon has not been slain. And even if that were possible, the Dragon will return again and again until the day that I can face my Dragon with the confidence and assurance in my own mind that the Dragon is not a threat.