Prudence and Madness

Cruising down a familiar local road, I’m inside a taxi, seated behind the driver and beside me, a woman, her face hidden in the shadows.  I could hear the brisk coughing of the driver.  In time, though, the coughing came in fits and I could feel he’s already having trouble driving and dealing with his coughing fits at the same time.

He turned to a smaller road and told the woman beside me that he couldn’t take her to her destination anymore.  The woman, in haste, stepped out of the taxi and slammed the door close.

The driver continued to have more terrible coughing fits.  He was already bent over the wheel.  I got out and looked at him.

“Are you all right?”  I asked him.

He continued coughing and I noticed that there were already specks of blood on the wheel and the dashboard.  He gave another wretch and he spewed a glob of clotted blood the size of a small frog.

Continue reading this entry.

I’ve started with a dream blog before but wasn’t able to maintain it. Would it last this time? I hope so.

So, what made me resurrect this dream blog?

A series of dreams. Wonderful dreams but a bit disturbing.

Click on the screenshot to get to my dream blog (or just click the link) or just look for it at the navigation panel on the left side.

It’s that shiny, waxed-slippery red floor again. And the flashing hallway fluorescent bulb.

What lined the hallway could have been like prison cells, if not for the cement wall painted pale pink and rose. Scraping sounds of chairs blend with the noisy chatter of the room.

I went in.

It’s our High School reunion. Or rather, at least, our High School class reunion.

Chairs were pulled to the sides of the room. The buffet table was relegated to the dusty corner, but no one hovers there. Everybody was seated and in the center of the room was a vast space. A vacant square of a space.

I stood there.

Teacher, with her long black hair, dark skin, and white and red uniform sat on one side of the room, a little apart from my other classmates.

“I wish your parents are here to receive your report card,” she said to me, eyes flashing.

“My report card? What the…”

“Parents should be here…”

“Give it to me! I am a doctor already and I have a right to it! You won’t give it to me? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Parents should care enough to make time for their kid in school.”

“Kid? Goddamn you! Are you saying my parents are not fit to be parents? Give me my report card!”

Then a male classmate whispered to my ear, “What’s wrong with Teacher? Why is she acting like that? She’s crazy.”

“Yeah, she is crazy,” I whispered back.

I pulled my classmate, Margie, from the sidelines to me and I said to Teacher, “Look! She’s a lawyer now! You give our report cards or we’ll sue you!”

And then Teacher just continued to look smug, sometimes shaking her head.

Oh, how I wanted to smack that smug face with a pan, stupid that she is.