Terminus Part 2

You know you’re dreaming because you can see yourself. The dream revolves around work obviously, as you see you’re wearing that hideous brown and white and gold uniform of the Cosmodemonic Security Company.

The dark, grey labrynthian concrete walls, and floors, and celings of the parkade surround you. You hear nothing, so it must be one of those silent dreams of the kind everyone used to have before the invention of talkies.

Behind the dream version of you, out of the gloom emerges your supervisor, the "Lying Dutchman" as everyone calls him.

Dream You says something to him and beacons the theiving Dutchman to follow. He does, down to the bottomost level of the parkade to an empty corner. A dark empty corner.

The fat, blubbery, Hutt of a man turns angrilly towards Dream You. Suddenly you and Dream You have become one and you can feel the Dutchman’s angry spittle pelting you in the facemeats. You feel almost giddy inside as you raise your right arm and point something black and heavy at your boss’ face.

The scene wipes left to right like in a George Lucas flick and you find yourself in the change room, balls deep in a girl whose face you can’t see. The number on the locker in front of you is 13. The colour is green and the painted surface of the metal fogs slightly at your every exhalation.

The sound of the dream has been switched on now and you can hear your breathing as well as the girl’s every little moan, and squeal. Her leg wraps higher around you and you feel like you are about to explode. You can feel the tingle gathering in the base of your spine, building, building…

It’s morning.

A voice on the radio is talking about a gas explosion in Calgary that killed two and injured five. The news goes on to report another "gangland style" murder in the downtown. You turn off the radio. It’s 08:10am.

You sit up too fast and get a head rush, followed by a feeling of intense nausea. Making it to the bathroom toilet just in time you vomit a long stream of clearish liquid with what looks like blood clots in it. You stare at the vile mixture in the bowl before flushing it away to infinity. You rinse the sick from your mouth and grab the ruck sack.

You have to go. Now. Your adventure will wait for no one.