Short Story: The Dream

Words and photo by F LoBuono

He was pudgy with the kind of soft body created by years of having other people do all the hard lifting for him. Anything physical was not so much beneath his dignity as it was for the fact that he lacked the discipline to push himself to be more fit. Soft and lazy. All of that goo was covered in a perfectly tailored, blue pinstriped suit, and was capped by an equally fleshy face. His hair was red and perfectly trimmed, his eyes a piercing blue.

Despite the fact that I had repeatedly asked him not to do so, he get pointing his finger in my face with a look of indignity on his. He stood close enough for me to smell an overabundance of after shave - part of a businessman's good grooming, I suppose. The more I asked him to stop, the more he insisted on pointing that damned fat finger in my face.

Although committed to nonviolence, this guy was really pissing me off. I felt my blood rising. My temples were pounding.  His appearance, his demeanor, his very presence was contrary to everything that I stood for. He was a all sound and fury, signifying nothing. He may have felt superior, but he was not! I wasn't going to take it much longer. And I didn't. After one, final poke, I lost it. I have a fierce temper and the monster within me could no longer be contained. I just exploded.

With both hands, I reached for and grabbed him around the neck. I began to clamp down on his throat. I am not a big man but I have incredibly strong hands. When anyone needs a stuck jar top opened, I'm the guy that they turn to. Now, those hands were firmly locked around his throat and I started to squeeze. Vice-like, tighter and tighter I gripped. The muscles and tendons in my forearms contracted like steel cables. The veins in my neck began to bulge. My teeth were clenched, my eyes narrow and focused. My only thought was to apply more and more pressure. And I did.

He was powerless to stop me. I kept squeezing - tighter and tighter. As I did, he began to fall backwards, my hands still firmly clamped around his throat. I did not let go and followed him all the way to the ground. Still, I would not release my death grip. Then, my eyes met his. I saw a look of terror come over him. We had both reached the point of no return. He knew that his life was in serious jeopardy and he was powerless to prevent it. It filled him with a palpable fear. I could see it clearly. In fact, it was so strong, I could practically smell it. And the more frightened he became, the more powerful I felt. I was in control - not him. And, quite frankly, it felt good. Years of pent up frustrations were coursing through my body and into my hands - literally. I kept squeezing. I would not stop. I could not stop. He would know MY power!

Then, I woke up.