What’s “The Fence”?

I had a dream last week that surprised me.

* * * *

In this dream, I was a guy. Picture George Costanza, and you’ll have it about right. Insecure, overweight, and always has some sort of inconvenient problem caused by somebody else. I was driving in an old car, one that might have formerly formerly been considered “luxury”, following a black SUV down a hot desert highway. I’ve been following this SUV for hours. This isn’t something I had a choice in. I was following this SUV because if I didn’t, somebody would probably kill me.

The SUV pulls off the road, and I pull off too, parking in front of it. A giant of a man gets out of the black SUV. He looks like Billy Butcher, and is probably about as nice. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I follow him to this double row of tall, white picket fencing that lines the road about twenty feet away.

There are some people already there, milling around and looking somber. I get the impression that this place is something like a roadside memorial, and I need to keep my smart mouth shut and show some respect. The fences are about four feet high, and the slats are too far apart. The fence rows themselves are four or five feet apart. There’s nothing that will be stopped by these fences. Some of the slats have decorations on them, at the top before the symetric divots that make them look so much like a normal picket fence, even though it definitely isn’t.

The guy who looks like Butcher keeps me within arms reach, in case he needs to throttle me for being stupid. Some of the other visitors are kissing certain slats of fence, almost like it’s the Blarney Stone. I’m hot, and don’t care. I wait for Butcher to finish his business so that we can go.

It’s dusk when I leave. I don’t know where Butcher has gone, but I’m tearing down the highway, just waiting to be back home where everything can be normal again. I’m going way too fast, and not doing very well at handling this old car. The brakes seem shot, and I dodge in and around the few cars that are on the road. Up ahead, I can see it’s a speed trap. There are cars pulled over, and at least two black and whites waiting in a merging lane to nab the next car coming. That’d be me. I see all this, but I can’t stop. The cop in front underestimates my speed and pulls out onto the road in front of me.

All I can think is, “This is not going to end well.”

There’s a loud crunching of metal, and I know someone is going to die. I black out.

When I come to, I know I’m not anywhere near a desert highway. I have no idea where I am.

* * * *

So, that’s what the dream was. Obviously, there’s something going on here. And I want to know what. Why would anyone want to kill me? Why was I following the guy in the SUV? Why a desert double row of fences? What happened in that car wreck, and where did I wake up?

I don’t know yet, but it’s stuck with me hard enough that I feel compelled to write it up into a full story. I’ll be posting bits as they come to me on my blog. They’ll be rough as I’m finding good ol’ George’s voice, but I think there’s something worth creating here. Please feel free to read it and point out flaws (in a nice way, please. you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.) so that this can really become something good.

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~ by jesstracey on August 25, 2011.

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