Dreams and Nightmares Define our own Divinity
T’is the season to be folly, fa la la la la, la la la la. Purchase all your gay apparel… The key word here is “purchase”. Keep buying gifts so the corporation can make a fist full of dollars. Greed is the need and we play into this every year in attempt to remain elated and joyous. But what has the corporation given back, but January bills that keep giving for the next fiscal year and beyond. They will continue to collect their bursas and send the collection agencies after you if you default on your payments. Money Store loan sharks will foreclose and garnishee your wages, if you still work, because the last thing they want is the merchandised jettisons you were conned into purchasing . Why would they want that stuff anyway? What on earth would they do with it? They would have to pay for storage until it was auctioned it off and by that time, would make a fraction of the storage costs back. So, they would rather break you financially, until they could not squeeze another dime out of your hide. By that time, your wife would have left you and your kids would be selling their hides on the street to maintain their fentanyl addictions. In fact, you will be in the same soup kitchen line with them, so at least you can still eat as a family, sort of, watching your daughter count out her cash from her daily tricks, and your son, ducting out of the way every time he sees some lights flash in fear of capture after the last heist, he and his friends just pulled on the local “Son’s of Anarchy” approved dealer’s house, stealing all the exchanged jewelry and loose cash lying about, and whatever else they could carry out fast. But it isn’t the police they are watching for. It is the local “Municipal” approved “Son’s of Anarchy” approved gang who will surely break some limbs if they find these culprits. You attempt to show some supportive protection, only to fall back to the floor off you chair, inebriated from the bottle of alcoholic mouthwash you conned some lady at the grocery store to purchase for you, then, after robbing her and leaving her bleeding in the snow from bludgeoning her head with a beer bottle you found in the gutter, only to find points cards and a hand full of change in her junk ridden purse. You scour her car, finding some more change and CD’s that you brought to the pawn shop, getting 25 cents each, for a grand total of a dollar seventy-five. Along with the other change, you manage to purchase a bottle of Triple X brandy, only to get it taken away from you by a mall security guard, whom let you keep the mouthwash.
After a look of distain from your son’s eyes, hearing laughter from his fiends, your daughter assists you up from the floor. At that moment, the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved gang barges into the soup kitchen, as most everyone else, dropping their utensils, run out via the entrance door. Zeroing in on your son and daughter, the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved gang members close into your table, pushing you back to the floor. The lady server of the soup kitchen, swiftly approaches the front door, locking it while smirking sadistically at your daughter. You attempt to get up as one of the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved members grab your son’s neck squeezing, pulling him over the table, throwing him to the floor. Your daughter pulls a knife from her jeans and slashes the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved member across the chest, drawing blood as another “Son’s of Anarchy” approved member punches your daughter’s face, making her collapse to the floor. As the lady server snickers at your daughter, your son attempts to rise, only to be shot in the forehead by another “Son’s of Anarchy” approved member. By this time, one of the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved member grabs your daughter’s hair, pulling her up from the floor, attempting to drag her out of the soup kitchen. You manage some adrenaline, and swiftly rise to your feet, picking up a metal chair, smashing across the “Son’s of Anarchy” approved member’s back, that had a hold of your daughter’s hair. You feel a sharp pain to your head, and all goes black.
Some light appears, with a feminine voice echoing in your head. You call out your daughter’s name, but only feel a prick of a needle to your arm, then seeing everything go black. Later, after some time passed and some faint dreams, you awaken again, to find yourself in a slightly darkened hospital room. You look over to the next bed, seeing a feminine silhouette. You call out your daughter’s name, only to realize that the feminine silhouette is the lady you bludgeoned with the beer bottle, apparently alive, but unconscious. You start to tear wondering about your daughter, and also knowing the certain death of your son. You attempt to get up off the hospital bed, noticing your limbs in casts, causing extreme pain. Once again, you feel a prick from a needle, as all goes dark once more. Later, much later it seemed, you find yourself at a dinner table in a moderately decorated home, sitting with the woman you bludgeoned with the beer bottle accompanied by your daughter, three children and a man. You notice a picture of your dead son prominently displayed on the dining room wall. The memories surged as you remember this woman you bludgeoned forgave you and married you. You also remembered that your daughter managed to get herself off the street and drugs, marrying this man, having three children. Your newly realized wife rises up, kisses your cheek and says; “Yes it is true, we are all together. Merry Christmas..”
“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)
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