Pain Recurring

Have you ever dreamt of a pain backwards? Let me expand, because that question isn’t particularly clear.

Imagine yourself in a cafe or a restaurant, or some place that you can purchase a beverage. Hell, a roadside burger van if that’s the scene that arrives vividly in your mind.

So you’re at this place, sat at a table with a friend. The specific identity of the friend is unimportant because it always changes. Picture someone you are close with. Close enough to tell them that secret, but not the thought that keeps you awake at night. You order drinks, whatever makes you both comfortable, something ordinary. Perhaps caffeinated, possibly alcoholic.

Your friend is telling you about their latest venture when you suddenly get this irritable pain in your mind. It begins as a tickle, as though someone is scratching your temple gently with a cocktail stick. You can feel the pain on your skin but it’s deeper than that. Your skull starts to feel heavy and you sense a headache rapidly approaching.

At this point you can still hear your friend talking. In fact you take in every word, as at this moment the sudden, unexplained pain is simply an annoyance. An irritable trouble that you incorrectly presume will pass in a few minutes. Try pressing all the fingernails of one hand against your temple, that’s all it is right now.

It goes on like this for several minutes until you start to hear a high-pitched tone. It sounds as though someone in the distance is cutting steel with power tools. This screech gets louder and louder until you realise it’s coming from your own mind. Your brain is screaming, crying out for help. The anxiety arrives and you accidentally spill your drink with a panicked flail of your left arm.

“Are you alright?” Your friend asks. They sound a little concerned but they should be calling a fucking ambulance.

You can’t respond, the pain is far too intense now. The metallic screech has transitioned itself from audible to physical agony. The cocktail stick on your temple is now a switchblade. You drop to your knees and place both hands over your ears, as though that would ease the suffering. You knew it wouldn’t, but you did it anyway. Why?

Your friend wants to help but they are paralysed by the unexpected situation. The other onlookers either sit back and watch or start filming the event for digital capital. As you use a table to try and lift yourself back to an upright position, you realise nobody is going to help you and that this is only getting worse.

It sounds horrifically impossible but you actually think you can hear your brainstems snapping, the cells melting away into nothingness one by one. Your inner consciousness is taking a stroll through your mind with a machete and hacking through the overgrowth. You’re mere moments away from blacking out when he arrives.

You know it’s a he because of his build, his face is warped by paint and scarring. He somehow carries darkness and light at his back, a war is taking place in the very shadow he casts. As he approaches, you realise that it is he who afflicted this terrible agony upon your mind, but also that he is here to make it stop.

He bends down and takes a knee beside your convulsing body whilst performing an instant diagnosis. The dagger he draws from his coat pocket looks old but is actually quite new. Relatively speaking. He thrusts the blade deep into your temple and you gasp for breath as he draws it out again. As each fragment of polished steel exits your skull, you feel the pain melt away until nothing remains.

You are alive because of the man who has now gone. Your friend helps you to your feet and you sit back down at the table. It’s as though the torment never took place and your dream fizzles out until the morning comes. You are awake and none of this actually happened.