Madhouse

The dream I had last night:

My dream-shell was a child; I must have been six at the youngest, eight at the oldest. I was accompanying my mother as she ventured on a quest down the hall of what seemed like close-quarter apartments, every room was tiny. It really seemed like a tattered, abandoned medical institution refurbished into a slum dormitory. The staff may have abandoned the place, but the mentally deranged remained. 

My mom went door to door, peeking into every sad, densely lit room; occasionally rummaging through the garbage and piled rubbish among the floor. 

All around us, people were yelling. Some wanted to be left alone, others chastised invisible compatriots and negligent friends all along the dilapidated hallways and lonesome hospital rooms that appeared comfortably furnished. I was watching a television mounted in the corner of the hallway. An advertisement for a water park showed children careening down waterslides and playfully rampaging in a swimming pool. Meanwhile, in the corner of my eye, an overweight but lusciously curved woman dolled herself up, applying makeup, dressed in shaded lingerie outlined in fluffy crimson trim. She approved what she saw in the mirror and laid in her bed next to a blank mannequin. 

From further down the hall, an imposing growl grabbed my attention. I turned my head to see where it was coming from. What seemed like a dog dressed in human clothing was sitting on its hind legs, rocking back and forth. That was the direction my mom wanted to go next. When we reached that area, a group of people were ridiculing a lone, older, stress-worn woman. They grabbed her collection of mini-sized plastic dolls, each one capable of fitting in the palm of a hand, and they threw them in a garbage can then left in sadistic laughter. The tormented woman agonized over the discarded plastic dolls screaming, “Are they dead!?”

My mom disrupted my attention, still searching and gathering. She told me to sift through the clutter that was directly near what I thought was a ravaging dog. It turned out to be a mutated being; it had human skin but it walked on four sets of clawed paws. It was dressed in a shirt and shorts, it even wore a wool cap, but it had a canine’s elongated snout and a makeshift muzzle that was really a broad, white leather belt that it seemed capable of tearing open if instigated. 

I began sifting through the pile as mother wanted me to and sure enough, it wasn’t a matter of if but when – and the hairless beast lunged at me. Its front claws were digging into my shoulders but all my strength was directed to keeping its strapped, vicious teeth away from me. It’s mouth was directly in front of my eyes and they began growing larger and longer.  

And I awoke.