In the Desert of the Mind

“Oh God, where am I.” Calm down, you’re used to this. You have a condition, remember, time disappears, fall asleep one night and two weeks later you wake up somewhere new. It’s just like always; take a minute, look at what’s around you. It appears I’m in a 1978 Cadillac; the interior is heavily worn from harsh years of neglect and abuse.

Have I been drinking? I don’t feel drunk but the passenger seat is strewn with empty bottles of cheap whiskey. “Holy Shit!” the only thing I can say to the startling realization that outside the window lays the infinite darkness of a desert whose name is unknown to me.

My stomach turns; a ball of anxiety twists within my gut. Something in the rear-view mirror shimmers in a cold moon beam; and suddenly a feeling of unease settles upon the Caddy.

I close my eyes, “God, grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference; just for today.”

Slowly I inhale a deep breath of the stale air. My eyes spring open and I quickly turn around to face the shimmering object. Bile flows to my throat and I turn in time to vomit on my pants; time stands still.

The shimmering object is a broken bracelet. The cause of my nausea is the delicate young maiden with the dreamy eyes; her throat is slit and her body is carved like a Christmas ham. I turn away, disgusted and horrified by the atrocity I have no recollection of.

Then I see it, on the floor board between my vomit spackled shoes; a blood cloaked bowie knife half the size of my arm. The sight of the beast triggers a second wave of nausea; I choke on the bile but manage to swallow it down.

Suddenly everything goes blurry and a familiar inferno ignites behind my eyes. Slowly the scorching sensation spreads through my brain. I double over in the agony of the moment and then my vision is flooded with quick flashes of black and white memory fragments. I can only grasp hold of a few of the fleeting images as I feel my body begin to convulse.

Everything is fuzzy, like I'm drunk or just waking up. I’m sitting in a run down old bar; the kind of dive most frequented by biker gangs and others from similar walks of life.

In a flash the bar is gone. That same old searing sensation rips through me again. This time the shock is more physical. Somewhere in the night I feel my body writhe and flail. Then the sound of glass shattering!

My body shudders more gently now; the worst has passed, I suppose. So exhausted now, I try to open my eyes but nothing. Something warm on my arm, a slightly gooey feeling, too bad I have no energy to look. All that matters now is sleep. Not the desert. Not the Caddy. Not the... but the girl.

What about the girl? This question follows me hauntingly down the rabbit hole, and into the bleak abyss of sleep.