The demon of Somalia

October 18, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

The sun is at its highest in the sky and relentlessly pounding the dirt with a blistering heat. Before me are the sights of a run down, broken desert city, in the midst of ruin. Shanties crowd for space along the narrow streets. Needless to say, there is a lack of curb appeal here. Gun shots pop off about a mile away, followed by return gunfire and some shouting. A stranger runs into my line of sight and I stomp my foot into the ground, bringing up the crosshairs of a reticle. At the bottom of this scope are a list of weapons I may use. I blink at the one in the middle and hear the whooshing sound of a small rocket leaving me overhead and it slams into the frantic stranger, leveling him in an instant. 

I take off running through this maze of a city and suddenly there are hundreds of people running about, shooting at each other, beating each other in some desperate fight for survival. I am able to remain somewhat unnoticed and take down person after person in my crosshairs. There is an alley to my right that I squeeze into, hiding momentarily before rushing back out into the street to kill a group of four. I peer down the dirt road about a half mile and fire a barrage of small swords and knock another from his motorcycle, immediately appearing next to it, hopping on, and taking off. The bike is palm-sized but I am able to ride it nonetheless. A boy grows out from the grime of the side of a building and speaks to me in a guttural, strained voice. Fighting the urge to invite such a seemingly friendly demon for coffee, I pulled on the throttle to get away from it/him as quickly as possible but every half mile or so, he would appear off to the side of me and laugh first, then try and swipe at me to knock me off my micromachine crotch rocket.

I steer off a hill, catching a lot of airtime before crashing to the ground. My entire body feels like it is on fire. The boy devil approaches me, taking his time and I look at the bike, which is now in flames and I panic, knowing I have to get up and get away. There was little distance between us now and I yell something inaudible at the kid, somehow causing the bike to be “pulled” over to me and attach itself between my legs. It sits up, with me on it, and hits full throttle. I was gone from the bottom of that hill, making my way, full speed, on a bike that was now in flames. Every shanty and hut I drove past, the people would pour out from with the same face as that devil that had been pursuing me. Up ahead I noticed a long stretch of concrete road and as I approached it, everything went black.