Dreamed 1983/8/5 by Wayan
The sky's gray. I'm wading around my backyard garden. It's flooded thigh-deep. The richest flowerbeds are all drowned, just leaf-tips above water.
My mom is here, inspecting a droopy fuchsia bush. "It's dying" she says. "Infested with parasitic bugs. You didn't care properly for your fuchsia."
I say "That's not true. Those bugs are all over, a major invasion. Don't you read the papers?" She's silent. "And they're curable. Just takes a spray of light mineral oil. I don't have that, but I can put cooking oil in a squirt gun."
My mom says "That's hopeless!" Keeps discouraging me even as I fill the gun. I ask her permission (why? Just so it's on the record?), she says "No!"... and I spray anyway.
As I defy my mom and spray my fuchsia, I hear a "POP" behind me, near as loud as a gunshot. Worries me. Turn to find...
NOTES IN THE MORNING
And how many more of our nightmare figures are just hollow bags of... hot air?
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