Just Woke Up.

A Story by Wisconsin

Last night I dreamt I was biking at midnight, down past the black and glistening lake. There were people there, in the dark, who followed me around at a slow walking pace. They didn't have any faces. I wish I could dream of people that I recognize.

I woke up this morning, slowly. Got my coffee mug and started moving outside, sat there for a while. Everything was quiet, my mind was still booting up and I couldn't hear the usual outside noises yet, wasn't awake enough to hear the undercurrent of swaying leaves or the sound of the few cars running by. Coffee was cold and black, as always. I had woken up too late for a fresh cup. I chugged it down, and my mind became focused on an unfamiliar sound, just beyond the crest of the hill.

It was like a thousand helicopter blades turning. And that's exactly what it was, as a matter of fact. Big choppers, flying low, just high enough to go above the houses and the trees--and then, just before I could get up and try to think about what was happening, creatures began pouring over the hill, running down the road in a constant river. Little creatures--plump men with pointy red caps, big white beards, hairy feet and a look of eerily jovial fear frozen on their little faces.

The choppers hovered above, side doors slid open and tall dark men in cowboy hats leaned out, began playing with lassos. They'd toss their ropes down and pull a gnome up, kicking and screaming.

I watched the stampeding mob go down the hill and disappear around the corner, helicopters following closely behind. Then I walked in, for more coffee.