Pick up the Phone

==March 30th, 1989==
My dreams seem so real. This man waits for me so calmly, every night. I am afraid to rest, in fear of meeting that freak again. He is the same every time. Just one man, masked or possibly mutated, sitting on a couch, waiting for me to open the door and walk on in. He never tries to attack me. He is calm and collected. He is a killer, though. It rots me from the inside to look into his face and to be able to tell that he has had to kill people before. He is no stranger to a gun and I fear that I soon won't be either. He never lets me talk. He tries to teach me some bullshit morals, or something, and then I wake up. Every fucking night. This has to end. I have to do something about this.
==April 1st, 1989==
I moved out of my old home into an apartment in Central Miami. I am hoping the confusion will flush out these reoccurring dreams. The janitor talked to me today. Handed me a form asking if I was true to my country. If I was willing to die for my country. He handed me a piece of paper. My eyes scrolled across the top, and all I noticed was "BLESSINGS". I assumed that he was some sort of religion pusher, but I read it again. He was offering me access to some service and I thought about it.
I noticed, that if these dreams persist, I will be unfit for ordinary life here in Miami. I will become a serial killer or something! I just want it to stop. I was ready for anything. I actually wish I was killed for my country so these bullshit dreams would stop fucking haunting me! It drives me fucking mad! They never stop! He doesn't let me say a thing! All I fucking want to say is "Why are you wearing that mask!" But no! He is inside of me, triggering some sort of reflex and slapping me awake!
But, I digress. Back to the janitor. He had shaggy long hair, and barely had a moustache. I signed the paper, and with a grin he whispered, "We will contact you soon." and then he was gone. Had to do a double take to realize that bastard just disappeared. I am wondering if he was an April Fools joke, or  just another dream, like the motherfucker in the mask.
I feel a connection to the man in the mask, though. I guess since he's my dream, he's a part of me.
==April 2nd, 1989==
I am assuming that the janitor was just a dream, because I have had no contact with him at all. I might be hallucinating, because I swear I saw him outside in a different building, handing some bald guy in a green jacket a paper. But in my dream, there were three people last night. The regular masked man, a long faced woman, and a man in a fancy suit, with bright yellow eyes.
I couldn't hear them. All I could hear was my heartbeat. Everything kind of zoned out, and went 8bit like a shitty Nintendo game. And I thought to myself, this is it! I am dying in my sleep. Finally, escape from this pain. But then, the heartbeat stopped, and I woke up. This motherfucker is teasing me. I rolled over in my bed, and it was pitch black.
Something was wrong. I choked up, and a cold rush tore down my spine. I turned around, and the masked man was standing right there, in my doorway. I took a picture of that bastard, while falling over onto the floor. I busted up my nose, but I just rubbed it off and wrote in sharpie on the picture "MASK", then hid it under my lamp.
==April 3rd, 1989==
I woke up to the phone beeping. One new message. From the janitor? I stumbled out of bed and saw the spots of blood on the carpet. What happened last night? All I remember was darkness, and then a flash. I walk over to the phone and click "Play". I hear a short beep, followed by a woman's voice. Not the janitor.
"Hey, this is... Tim, from the bakery. The cookies you ordered should be delivered by now. A list of ingredients are included... Make sure that you read them carefully!"
I was confused, I hadn't ordered any cookies. But hey, free cookies, can't complain about that. I walk outside of my door, and sure enough, a small box is sitting next to the staircase.
When I picked it up, it was a lot lighter than a batch of cookies.
I pry it open, and inside is a note.
"The target is a briefcase. Discretion is of the essence. Leave target at point F-32, inside the dumpster. Failure is not an option. We'll be watching you."
Underneath the note is a rubber chicken mask.
The same one as in my dreams.
I feel like my mind is either fucking up on me or I think that this is reality.
==Hotline (AFTERMATH)==
I slink through the alley, briefcase covered in blood. Shirts are hanging on wires overhead. I kneel down next to a dumpster, and shove the briefcase between it and the wall. When I stand back up, a bottle shatters under my feet.
"Who's there? I can here you! I know you're there!"
I sprint out of the alley, and a bum with a baseball bat is waiting for me. I run up and when he swings, I cut under and jab him in the ribcage. He falls, wheezing for air. I get on top of him and smash his head into the ground. He coughs violently. To prevent anyone from hearing him, I take his baseball bat and smash his head in with it. Bits of flesh and his brain scatter all across the ground, not to mention my face. I stand up and drop the bat.
I pull the mask off my face, disgusted with who I've become. I walk to my car, but right when I reach the door, I double over and puke onto the bloody road. My hands are filthy now; I'm on all fours right over top my fresh vomit. I stand back up, slowly yet steadily, and wipe my mouth. Scared as hell. But it feels strange... I open the car door and sit down. When I turn on the ignition, the headlights come out of the hood, making the moist road glitter with raindrops. When my foot presses the gas pedal, I think to myself.
"Almost feels like winning..."
Category:Dreams/Sleep
Category:Diary/Journal
Category:Video Games