jelliebeers

Duncan

She is doing a performance in a bedroom.  I don’t know who she is and I haven’t seen her before.  She’s is wearing 80’s style workout clothes.

“Now, I’m going to need everyone’s participation and please don’t take my picture.”

She approaches me.  “You know, this used to be Duncan’s bed…”

Duncan?

Then she cuts her arm with a steak knife and starts to bleed.  She takes a qtip and dips it into the fresh wound and touches it to my skin.  I flinch.  She draws the letter “D” on my leg.

“You got blood on me!”

“Please hold still, it’s for my performance.  I don’t have any diseases.”

Then she adds.  “You should really shave your legs.”

She finishes writing the name “Duncan” on my shin.  Her cut starts to bleed more.

She draws a line after the name and before my ankle.  She takes the remaining blood on the swab and draws a criss cross pattern on the top of my foot.  It looks like the pattern on a film strip.

“Can you hurry up and take a picture so I can wash this off?!”  I’m beginning to panic.

She gets her iPhone which she throws face down onto my foot smearing the screen with blood.  Then she snaps two pictures.

I run to the nearest bathroom and look in the mirror.

For some reason there is blood all over my face and a gag in my mouth.  The gag is made out of gauze that are saturated in blood.  I spit and a thick stream of blood and mucus slowly flows out of my mouth and onto the porcelain.   My mouth tastes like pennies and pretzles.

I splash handfuls of cold water on my face and I can feel the blood clots between my fingers.  They are bouncy.  I scrub vigorously trying to get it all off.  I keep my eyes closed so I won’t get blood in them.  Blood on the skin is one thing, but in the eyes is another.

Then I remember that there is also blood on my leg so I jump in the shower and frantically run my hands over my body.

I wake up because my phone keeps ringing.