With some reservation, I share with you how life on Earth will end for mankind.
I have never experienced one, but several weeks ago I had a nightmare. I have a well founded suspicion what prompted my subconscious to generate such a thing; I have no doubt many others, too, are experiencing that which I experienced. My nightmare was so real that when I awoke I feared what I had dreamt was actually happening. For those who may be interested, my nightmare rolled along something like this:
In a small ramshackle cabin that strained to remain standing, I held my seventeen-year-old dog close to my chest. With tears streaming down my face, I held a pistol to my dog’s head. Her black eyes starred, blinking not, at me. Tears too, wet the old dog’s grey hair that matted about her head.
While combing the hair on the old dog’s back with my fingertips, I forced from my heart the last words my best friend would hear: “Well, Katie, it’s time we escape this hell. God knows, we don’t want to be alive when Death comes a-knockin’ on our door.”
Weeping uncontrollably, I pulled the pistol’s hammer back, but I could not bring myself to shatter the shack’s still silence. Katie lay still and feeling my torment, she willed me to do that which I must, for my dog loved me.
Prompted by the ghastly prospect that lay before me—puking blood and puss while trembling in terminal agony—I, and billions like me the world over had succumbed to murder/suicide. As incomprehensible as this may be to accept, it was the choice humanity made as a means of escaping the hell that was eating their flesh from the inside out.
What marked the beginning of mankind's torturous journey to extinction happened when a box containing various viruses was inexplicably put into a trash bin for general disposal. It was in that bin that a cockroach urinated on a virus known only as XK2. XK2 became chaotically mutated. In its airborne state, Death’s microscopic disciples spread worldwide and attacked their hosts. Every means, known and unknown, to kill the virus failed. Within weeks, Earth was free of animal life including the worst animal ever created or to evolve: man.
Some dream, huh? The idea of a man-free Earth would be okay with me, but the way my nightmare made it happen was not something I wanted to be a part of; I mean, killing a dog and a suffering death ain’t for me.
I told a guy I work with, McKellop, my dream and he said something about dreams being a predictor of future happenings. Mac went on to tell me about a dream a friend of his had. In his dream, Mac’s friend was arrested for sexual harassment. In his dream the friend went into a store to buy a gallon of acetone. In the store, he asked a clerk who was wearing hot pants if she carried acetone, but what the clerk heard was, “Your ass is toned.” The woman had him arrested. Then, the very next day, he was arrested for shoplifting.
I asked Mac how his friend’s dream related to his arrest. “Well,” he said, “he got arrested in his dream and too, in real life.”
So, according to Mac, any part of my nightmare could be a predictor of something that will come to pass. If so, I only hoped it had nothing to do with dying or pain.
Driving home from the office yesterday, I was given every reason to put more value in what Mac said: A dog, looking much like the dog in my nightmare, ran into the street in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks just in time not to hit it. The dog continued to run directly into the arms of her owner who was standing at the curb with her husband. I parked my car and proceeded to introduce myself to the happy and much relieved couple.
“Boy, that was close,” I said. Smiling broadly, I introduced myself.
“We are so sorry for almost ruining your day. My name is Vivian; my friends call me Vi, and this is my husband, Russell.”
Russell held out his hand. “Happy to meet ya, but please, no Russell; my friends call me Russ.”
I could not help but connect their names, Vi and Russ…virus.
Scruffing her dog’s head with loving tenderness, Vi introduced her dog. “And this little rascal is Katie.”
Vi? Russ? A dog named Katie? Could my nightmare be a cart before the horse coincidence or, as Mac contends, a predictor of things yet to happen? Hmmm.
Word Count: 771