In my dream I felt a sharp itch on the side of my rib cage. When I reached to scratch I noticed the source was a wormlike lifeless creature that was leisurely snacking away on my skin. A painless uncomfortable sensation is what I felt, spreading from the surface of my skin, inwards and sideways in all directions.
Then I tried, urgently, to pull out the lifeless wormlike thing. I believed this would end the itchiness and discomfort. But the wormlike figure reacted fast, it’s mouthlike end spreading like a gush of jet fuel on nylon all over my body. I kept pulling it off my skin but its reach already effortlessly clung all over my body like a cocktail of a wet tee shirt, lubricated latex and kitchen cling foil.
I escalated my urgency to peel off the cocktail that had now engulfed every inch of my skin. Nothing was spared, even the difficult contours and folds and intrusions and extrusions that capitalism invented clothing for.
At once I arrested the wormlike figure in a good grip in an effort to peel off the clinging film off my skin. Then the film suddenly broke at my elbow where for the first time I realized it had been a constituent of my skin. I was left with a mass of film in my hand as I reacted to the shock of my now bleeding skin, painless at the point, on my elbow where the transparent film had broken.
Then right before my eyes, scales, like those of fish or snakes or lizards started forming as if to instantly repair the bruised, bleeding skin. But the scales formed fast and moved in a frenzy to cover all parts of my body that I had liberated and firm up those I had not reached yet.
Hurriedly, I pinched a yet to be scaled up portion of the cling film on my loins to launch a new liberation attempt and zone. It snapped quickly and bled, this time more viciously but still painlessly. My loins were attentive. But fearful.
Then I woke up in a feat. I quickly explored every touchable inch of my body to ascertain its state. Was there cling film anywhere? Scales? Bruises? Bleeding? A wormlike creature? Anything’s cocktail?
Nothing. There was nothing. Except a generous spread of perspiration. Maybe out of fear or I had overestimated the state of the weather outside before I gave in to sleep. Also a full bladder from my devoted hydrating habits even when there’s no apparent reason.
I jumped out of bed and off to the loo with the sole objective and urgency to empty my bladder. But not so soon.
A spider and a cockroach were in a vicious fight, roiling and tumbling over each other in murderous rage, right there before my pressed self. I had never seen this before and probably will never see such, ever again. The creatures fought, each taking a turn to disentangle for a fresh maneuver or flight. But the determination was of equal measure.
Did these two creatures have a mutual desire to make dinner out of the other depending on who succumbed first? Or was it a mere flexing of muscles by two exoskeletal idlers? What would they be fighting over? Territory? Water points? Access to poop? What?
I watched in creepy amazement as the duelers schemed, angled, attacked and tried to disentangle for a fresh round or for surrender. Who could tell?
Then suddenly the two dashed off in different directions as if ashamed of being caught in a stupid fight, in a loo. Was it my shadow? Was it my sweaty odor? Or was it the smell of my own adrenaline being as it is that I had just come from a weird, clingy, scaly, bruising and bloody dream – a daymare?
The two desolate fighters scampered and vanished before either could win or lose the duel they seem to have promised their all until one was minced and dispensed with. Is this what they always do in the loo when I’m away? Was this one a chance encounter or was it a sign?
What if my loo is also an arthropoda gladiatorial arena although capitalism sold it to me as real estate square feet? What if that’s the ruling party and the opposition in their arachnid forms roiling for access to public resources? Don’t they always stampede away to hide and reposition whenever citizens stumble upon them in the act?