Wild Horses

I am in high school living with Grandpa, but Grandma is not there. She has already passed. Grandpa and I have settled into incongruous daily routines. He works, I study. We don't eat together.

I take it upon myself to invent a new kind of air filter by combining a vacuum with a lighting fixture. When you turn the light on, the vacuum sucks dirt out of the air. I show others, but no one is impressed.

I go outside and mount a large wild horse. I am now in the North Woods of Wisconsin. As I ride, the horse goes where he wants, and he takes me to a small town I remember. The town has been renamed "Larry King, Wisconsin." Evidently Larry used to vacation there.

There are other wild animals wandering the streets. Big horses, elk, moose, deer. They are vivid and beautiful. They run aimlessly, and I keep thinking we will collide as we move through the random herd. But my horse guides himself, and the animals instinctively avoid collisions.

It occurs to me that I should try to control this horse somewhat. Otherwise, I fear I will go nowhere. I take the reins and try to impose my will on him. He is resistant. Time will tell how this relationship works out.

Lunatics' Asylum

I am trapped in an asylum with criminally insane people. Like Cuckoo's Nest, we are all in pajamas. And while most are medicated, I am not.

The inmates are at the same time an active group of criminals pulling off some sort of internal heist. We are in the final stages of an intricate robbery from the institution which will gain us what is perceived as material profit, but not freedom. This is true insanity. We are not even robbing Peter to pay Paul, but rather robbing Peter to pay Peter.

There is a member of the crew that hates me. Though he makes no obvious threat, I feel silent tension and know there is malice. Another inmate, one that I trust as a brother, comes to me and whispers in my ear,"He is coming for you. Be prepared. And slit his throat when he does."

I do not want or understand this conflict, but I know it is coming. I know I am different than the other inmates. I am more clear-headed and innocent, and one individual at least hates me for this.

I prepare. Looking through my surroundings, I find a small nail file. I palm it with my thumb so it is ready at hand. I explore places to hide. There is a loft with small cubby areas where one might feel safe; but there is an exposed wall where other inmates can peer in. It will not do to hide.

In the common area, inmates are being handed large doses of prescription meds in intricate combinations. Soothing music plays. Inmates eagerly consume their drugs, happy to stop feeling again for a while.

In another area, other inmates are tidying up the last details of the heist, including my nemesis. He sees me and pulls a handgun. I dash forward, flicking away his gun and grabbing his head with one hand while I jam the nail file into his neck with the other.

Though I aim squarely for his jugular vein, he does not bleed. Nothing but air is released from his wound. I do not know if he is alive or dead.

In my head, I hear an old Italian phrase and response.

"In bocca al lupo."

"Crepi el lupo."

Translation.

"Into the mouth of a wolf."

"May the wolf die."