I feel full

Oct. 14, 2020
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Last night I dreamt I ate a woman whole. Not just the meat, but the hair and the teeth and everything. Why would I dream such an awful thing? Why would I think these things? Is it something wrong with me? These thoughts- these intrusive thoughts almost seem to be like distant memories. Wasn’t it Plato that said that true knowledge is just the immortal soul remembering what it forgot in the trauma of birth? I think that was Plato. Could it truly have been I that dreamt such a wicked dream? Perhaps it is just my imagination. She tasted absolutely vile- but, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I can’t stop thinking about her face. Who was she? She didn’t seem afraid- she almost seemed to want it? Almost as if she had asked me to- no, that’s not right. Who is she? I can almost feel her black hair still caught in my teeth, even though I know it was just a dream.

A dream? Why do I keep calling it that? It must have been a nightmare- but no. Nightmares make you wake up in a cold sweat, make you shiver and be thankful that you awoke. This dream left me feeling… full?

That’s wrong right? The thought of it now makes me want to throw up, but I’m almost afraid to. As though I may lose that phantom woman if I do. But what if I lose her? I don’t know that face. What’s the use of losing someone I have never seen?

It’s like going into a small town and feeling that pang in your chest; the pang of nostalgia and homesickness- but you’ve never been there before. Nostalgia for a time and place that never existed. That’s her. I yearn to know her name; I yearn to devour her again; I yearn for her to beg me. Is that sadistic? Am I a freak? I must be.

But I’m full. She’s within me- somewhere. Is this what a pregnant mother feels like? To feel the heartbeat of another within me? Have I suffered the trauma of birth? Why did she taste so bitter? Almost like instant coffee. Her nails were dark like soot and her forehead caked with sweat.

But yet I still see her beauty. Such a beautiful expression in her repose- like Ophelia in the water. Is that what she wanted from me? Did my fair Ophelia want me to swallow her whole to escape her evil fate? But what fate would be less evil than that? No, there’s another reason. There must be another.

You must think me some kind of fetishest- some kind of freak. I don’t blame you. What kind of man writes his thoughts about such morbidities? About such curiosities? Did he really swallow a woman whole? His teeth catching her hair as a sink drain does? Did he choke on her as she went down or did he wash her down with something after?

My dear reader, it is much more sinister than that. Or- at least that’s what I think I would think if I could remember. You see, I have these thoughts- these memories of someone else’s. They frighten me. I forget them though if I don’t write them down. If I don’t write them down they fade like those dreamt in a mid-morning nap. Such ephemeral spirits. But her- I can’t shake that face. I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten her once before and that I’ll do it once again if I don’t.

But- whose thoughts are these? I swear I know I’m not losing it. She makes me full. So full and warm- such warmth. The warmth from a bottle of liquor that makes your face feel flush with fire- that’s her inside me. Pulsing. I feel her move and I’m comforted to know I’m no longer alone. But of course I know i’m actually alone- it was just a dream. But what if there is some truth to the dream?

I remember swimming in the lake back in the backwoods of Minnesota. I would hide under the docks and listen to people’s conversations. The underside of the dock covered in algae and I would stay completely still as to make sure that they wouldn’t know I was there. What fantastic stories they had.

Oh. What a nasty thought I’ve just had? What if I had swallowed them as well? To taste their bitter flavor? What then? Would they have stayed with me? I could have crawled out from under the dock- no pulled them under and swallowed them whole. I could have those memories forever- no! What a nasty thought.

But if it’s so nasty- why does it make me feel giddy inside? Like I’ve just received news that a meeting has been cancelled when I was dreading it so?

I’m afraid dear reader that I may have made a grave error. These thoughts are completely mine and mine alone. I’m afraid I’m the wicked one here. I cannot blame someone else for these perverted actions.

I feel warm and full.

What a pity.

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