Dirty Laundry

First let me say, this was a dream and not entirelywritten fresh, I let my subconciouse do that part for me. I've heard that many great stories come from the dream of those who write them, so when I have a dream like the one I describe below with a fictional embelishment or two, I feel it necessary to write them down.

I woke up a killer this morning.

         Last night I lay in my bed, exhausted from a taxing weekend and ready to relax completely. The latest Stephen King book was resting on my nightstand, temptation in the written form, seducing me into the next page of the unknown. As is my habit, I gave in and searched for the page I was on. I never remembered these things, nor do I have a bookmark that I know the location of.
         After finding my spot and reading about some sort of reprogrammed human with weird abilities for an hour I felt my desire waning. I checked the page, knowing full well I wouldn’t remember it next time, and set the book down on the nightstand. I had to set my alarm so I crawled to the end of my bed where I keep it. The only way for it to wake me up is if I have to actually move my whole body to turn it off, so, to the end of the bed it goes. Anyway, I found I had left it unplugged for some reason so I remedied that and set the time and alarm. I like to set my alarm clock a little ahead, maybe fifteen minutes or so. It makes waking up a little calmer I’ve found.
         I lay back in bed, dropping my head into the oval indentation that remained within my favorite pillow. I reached over to the pewter lamp on my nightstand and clicked the power switch. I faded off with thoughts of the weekend.
         “This was a good weekend.” I said to myself, thinking about the party Saturday night, and the phone number I came home with. I f

         There are sirens. Maybe three or four squad cars nearby I think. Are they coming here?
         The room I’m in is dark, so is the world outside. I can’t quite remember where I am, but I can remember that I never do this unless it’s nighttime. I look around the kitchen I’m standing in. It isn’t mine, I know that much, but to whom the fake red peppers on the wall belonged to I still can’t figure out.
         Then I look down.
         “Ah!” I sigh comically.
         That’s why I‘m in this kitchen, suddenly remembering the whole evening.
         There’s a man at my feet. A man with strange fascinations, formerly that is. It's definitely his kitchen and not my own. I hate red peppers.
         Upon peering closer I see that my work is already done, thankfully. I don’t know where my mind has been but thankfully my body kept working. I don’t like feeling rushed because it tends to create mistakes.
         No mistakes here however, the pepper lover is already sectioned and arranged in the laundry basket I brought out of his bedroom. All of him but his head, which still lay in the sink draining the last bit of blood down the pipe. I say the last bit, but there was plenty more spread out on the blue tile of his kitchen floor. A dark red mini-galaxy is now painted on the cupboards as well, he sprayed more than I had anticipated.
         I should know shit happens when I don’t let them sit. I never remember these sorts of things for some reason though, just hind-site you know. At least I don’t have to clean it up. I’ll leave that job to the forensics guys. I laugh as I wonder if they’ll replace the sink pipes, or just not even see it, chalking it up to a rusty sink. It was good to laugh, the tension known as guilt was already creeping in on me. The sirens were fading. I need to get this bloody laundry mess out of sight, out of mind.
         First, grab the guy’s head. I can’t leave that behind. That would not serve my purpose. Just what my purpose is I don’t know. Unfortunately that memory didn’t return as quickly as the rest of the evening. There is a good reason though.
         I think.
         The head doesn’t fit. Damn. Maybe if I put the lid on and sit on it, works for the regular laundry. A little squish and a crack or two later the laundry basket lid pops on. Off to the trunk you go Mr. Red Pepper.
         I wish I could remember just why I’m here, even Mr. Peppers name would satisfy me right now. I can remember the rest of the evening’s activities down to the number of cracks I heard when I made this guy look at me from the top of his back. I know my actions don’t bother me either because I’ve done this many times before. I took the others’ laundry out because they were horrible people. The decrepit bottom dwellers of my world. I can’t have them destroying what is beautiful anymore, wreaking havoc on the ideal reality.
         “Oh yea.” I said in a groan much darker in tone than earlier. I remember now. A porn director of sorts, right? Yea.
         Only…
         Not the normal shit for you huh Mr. Richards. My mind is completely clear now; I can see all of it. This guy used his horses and any poor and desperate woman he could find willing to do anything for a little money.
         “It took me two years to track you down you sick fucker.” I growled at his pulpy remains.
         That isn't quite it either is it? No, there's something else here. Where? Fuck, why can't I remember?
         The sirens return, louder than ever. Shit I have to go. This guy was pretty heavy alive, luckily he’s little lighter without all his blood. I don’t think I could carry him otherwise. My trunk is open still so that’s an easy drop.
         SLAM
         Ok, trunks closed, laundry resting within. Time to go. I hear mumbling coming from the truck. It sounds like it is someone trapped under a layer of ice, barely audible and thick. I can't look, I can't wait. Why is the night is turning blue and red around me?
         I hear radios.
         Squealing tires.
         I turn the corner leaving Mr. Richards neighborhood only to find a wall of cars lined up in front of me.
         More squealing tires, my own this time. I can see directly into the lead officers eyes.
         He’s scared.
         So am I. I can’t explain myself. I don’t remember why I’m looking at this cop. I know there’s a body in my car, but why the hell can’t I remember why it’s there.
         “FUUUUUUUUUUUCCKK!” I scream as a gun goes off somewhere in front of me.


         I was drenched in sweat, the smell of guilt and fear contained within the layer of moisture surrounding me. The strong desire for the nicotine I’ve so battled to rid myself of clenched my lungs. I had sat straight up even before I opened my eyes. My heart was pumping at least twice the recommended amount through my aorta causing my vision to sort of pulse. I looked at the clock.

5:53AM

          I took a deep breath, my lungs crying out for a cigarette they knew I wasn’t going to give them. My heart was finally calming down. The early morning was lit up just like my dream, blue and red beating against the curtains I had drawn. I wanted to look out, and see the cop from my dream. I wanted to see the same scared look I saw staring back at me, but I dared not. It wasn't worth it. They were most likely there for my abusive neighbor anyway.