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A Man of Few Words - by Swan Morrison

In Your Dreams

Kevin took another sip of strong black coffee, trying to fight off sleep. His mind drifted back to his repose of the previous night. In his dream he had been talking to his attractive young neighbour, and she had invited him in for coffee. One thing had led to another, and soon they had been upstairs making love with unbounded passion.

Such is the nature of dreams that he had given no thought to the psychopathic gorilla with whom she lived. He might have assumed that violence resulting from pathological jealousy had once again led her partner to a spell in Broadmoor maximum security hospital? This would have been proved wrong, however, when the bedroom door was smashed from its hinges and Boris had lurched into the room waving his lucky, sawn-off shotgun.

With an arm and a leg blown off, Kevin had awoken just before hitting the concrete at the end of his journey from the bedroom window to the patio.

Kevin had been shaken on waking but had put the nightmare behind him until he had encountered Boris on the way to the shops.

Boris pinned him to a wall. ‘What were you f***ing doin’ last night?’

‘NN..Nothing. I went to bed early.’

‘Bloody right yer did, and if I find yer in one of Susan’s dreams again, yer’ll be in bed for the rest of yer f***in’ life.’

‘But that was just a dream. I can’t control my unconscious.’

‘If yer don’t, yer will be f***in’ unconscious tomorrow.’

As Kevin recalled these events of the past 24 hours, his eyelids became heavier. ‘Must stay awake... Must stay awake... Mustn’t dream of next door...........’

Suddenly he was standing stark naked in next door’s bedroom and - what was this in his hand? - shit, an eight foot long dildo! Boris’ voice could be heard as the door opened. There was no time to hide. They stood facing one another.

Kevin thought quickly. ‘Just thought I’d drop over to apologise for last night.’ He smiled weakly.

‘Like f*** yer did.’

Boris reached for his shotgun. Kevin rushed forward to grab it. They struggled. Both barrels fired.

Kevin looked down at the gory mess which had once been Boris.

‘Thank heavens you’ve killed that monster,’ said Susan as she led him to bed.

Susan drove away from the maximum security prison hospital. Now Boris was serving life, she somehow felt a visit every couple of months was the least she could do. The inability to dream had further destabilised his mental state. The doctors had never really understood, however, why he should blame this on a neighbour who he had murdered as a result.

She felt tired, parked at a nearby viewpoint and closed her eyes. It seemed that every couple of months she would have this same dream of visiting Kevin. In her dream she somehow felt it was the least she could do now he was serving life for the murder of Boris.