Driving

Dream I recorded from some time ago, not previously published.

I was driving a car at night trying to get myself to the hospital for emergency care of injuries sustained from someone I'd been living with. Montauk was in the passenger seat, it was a rare occasion where my dream-self was not piloting his body, but actually present in my own.

At some point along the drive, the rain became torrential along with strong wind and ice. To protect me from further harm, Montauk said he'd drive and pushed me to the back of the vehicle, taking the wheel. It was an old car, some 70s european make before head-rests became regulation, and each row of seats were a pillowy bench configuration.

It was at this point that my mind meshed with his, and my body was just a prop in the background of the dream.

Eventually Montauk drove to, not a hospital, but a huge scrap heap full of old broken cars, appliances and machinery. In the middle of the titanic heap, there was a small circular clearing with one smashed car situated in the center, occupied by the man who had injured me earlier that night.

He was white-knuckle gripping the wheel, looking enhanced as if he was frantically driving the damaged car, trying to get away from some malevolent force trailing him. He appeared frightened, stunned and jittery, almost like he was on the brink of having a seizure crossed nervous breakdown. Turning the wheel wildly and shifting gears, but going nowhere.

Montauk quietly crawled our car to the site of this display. After watching in silence for a few minutes, he suddenly flipped the high beams on and threw our car into high gear, careening it straight towards that man's vehicle. They collided with a terrific crash, but while our car somehow remained undamaged, the other was grievously crushed, smashed and crumpled. The man's head rocked forward like a ragdoll, cracking against the splintered windshield while his body jolted upon impact. It looked like he vomited blood.

Suddenly all the injuries on my body disappeared, and when Montauk got us out to inspect his work, my wounds all transferred to that man's body.

Without comment, Montauk pulled the man's convulsing body from his shattered car and hurled him onto the muddy gravel. He pulled a hefty oil canister from the surrounding trash and began to brutally bludgeon the man's skull with it. Not wildly, but with slow, spaced, methodical thuds. The man's skull split like a melon and we both silently watched as mounds of intertwined, writhing nightcrawlers rose like a hideous cancer from inside.

"I guess that's all he was.", Montauk said, holding my hand tightly.

Indeed it was. Some 'people' are simply vessels animated by rot.