Ready

When Cody dreamt, he always dreamt of colorful ideas. He always remembered the past, imagined the future, and calculated the present, like the dream algorithm theory.

However, when he had nightmares, they weren’t of imaginary monsters. In fact, when a zombie apocalypse dream happened—even if he was eaten, turned, or just before the horrific chase ended in swarms of cannibals felling him—he’d wake up with his heart racing, basking in his emotions.

Hoping for another taste of what others called a nightmare, he was coldly denied his plea. Tonight was his version of a bad dream: a boy running through the trees, rocks landing all around him, tears streaking down his face, and a wild-eyed look as he frantically searched for cover among the trees.

The cries of the others were coming closer, words becoming distinguishable now.

“Get him!” said one.

“Kill ‘em!” shouted another.

“Aim fer his head!” hollered someone else.

“My dah says if we kin make ‘er look like ah axe’dent, he’ll give us all ah bear!” exclaimed another among the children his age who chased him.

When a rock smacked him in the head, the shouts and cheers rang out as he stumbled. Blood felt wet down his cheeks, his eyes blinded by it. A few more rocks managed to bounce off his back painfully.

“The smell of blood only made the piranhas more hungry,” his pa always said.

Cody knew he couldn’t fall, knew he had to push on, keep running until the others lost their breath—because if he didn’t…

Cody woke up, gasping, reaching for the knife he had slept with for so many years. Instead, he grasped and held forward a pencil. His teeth bared, his eyes wide with a feral look, pure rage filled his every being.

His roommates stared at him nervously, aside from two who just looked at him like they normally would. Heather was smiling—not as if amused or condescending, but as if she’d just had her first cup of espresso in the morning. Tiffany glanced immediately away as if bored of the concept, showing no emotion at all.

Ashley, the usually angry one, had fallen back. Her shirt was ripped, and a tattered piece of cloth was in Cody’s hands from grabbing her.

“You were going to stab me?!” she exclaimed hysterically, as if she still couldn’t believe it.

Tiffany began eating at the goop in her bowl, her tone monotone as ever.

“Must have been an overwhelming dream. So vivid that he distorts what’s reality from fiction. Best not to wake that one by touch in the future.”

“What were you dreaming of?” Stephanie asked, her bowl at her mouth, shoveling food in but never taking her eyes off him, as if fascinated.

“Stabbing his roommates, apparently! Western uncivil… barbarian!” Ashley said through gritted teeth as she began straightening her clothes like she wasn’t shaken.

Cody slowly let the pencil fall, collapsing back down on his bed as he caught his breath. It was a childhood he wished he could forget—memories that always resurfaced.

Cody tried to think of a way to apologize, but all he could say was, “I’m sorry, Ashley… you just… startled me.”

“What about your dream? What was your dream?” Stephanie repeated. Then she added, “I did a study on dream interpretation. Gary Leon Ridgway found in his studies in 1963, when he was just fourteen, that dreams can be algorithms of—”

“Ridgway theorized, Theo-rize-duh!” Tod sighed. “And as far as I’m concerned, he was crazy. That kind of thinking was said to be shared by serial killers. That’s how James Warren Jones said it in—”

“Mr. Jones made his entire career being an opinionated… sorry for my French… ONLINE TROLL! He always hated on someone to appease his followers. It’s no wonder he committed SUICIDE when he lost all his followers on his live feeds in 1978. The man was just desperate for attention and needed to control those around him. Guy should’ve read more manga, I say. GARY!!! was a saint. You’re just saying that because he lived in War-shing-ton. You east side privileged ignorants are all the same. Gary couldn’t hurt a fly. As a matter of fact, his favorite manga, I hear, was ROM-coms,” Stephanie said, arching her back and kneeling proudly upright on her bed.

“Everyone loves ROM-coms, Stephanie. And besides, how far west do you live anyways? Minnesota? You don’t know how savage War-shing-ton can be. I heard that a fishing village called Sea-Attel used to be a city before Hollywood fell… burned down so many times from all the riots, they built fishing docks on top of the old city,” Tod said. “I’m just baffled by your religious cult following with this dream interpretation mumbo jumbo. Fatalists,” he finished.

Stephanie blushed and wanted to speak further but decided to open her mouth to some more mystery goop instead.

“My dream… was nothing important,” Cody said, trying to end the subject.

Many thought the Green River theorist was a hot-button topic. His ideals were fascinating, and he seemed genuinely nice the few times Cody had met him. But anyone who ever saw the klutzy, scatterbrained man knew if his head wasn’t in a manga, it was in a pillow sleeping. He’d forget to eat if the series he was reading was too long. But he was harmless as a fly—not a serial killer.

“Please, Cody… it could be about your future. Intense dreams like that are always accurate readings, in my opinion. Like de-fragging a computer, calculating the future with the best outcomes and harbingers of doom,” Stephanie pleaded.

“Is anyone forgetting this maniac almost stabbed me?” Ashley asked.

One of the twins held out his hands as if to hug her. Another offered her a bowl of the mysterious goop. Ashley rolled her eyes and folded her arms before settling for the bowl and walking away to her bed.

Tiffany didn’t help by adding, “With a pencil… graphite tattoo… oh no… she needs a bandaid… someone… help.” The monotone delivery only added to her condescending attitude as she muttered each pause between bites. Rolling her eyes confirmed it.

“I told you my dream wasn’t anything important. Why are you—”

“Because your eyes bleed?” Heather interrupted. Walking over to Cody, she held a bowl out. “The dream was probably of a past you wish to forget, yes? Then we shouldn’t discuss it further. However, lying isn’t okay among comrades. We must trust each other with our lives on the battlefield. Trust is not earned from lies…”