“A” is for Accomplice

I visited my Mom at her new house. The driveway wasn’t well lit, but I made out the path toward the door from the interior light seeping from the windows.  The house had two different entrances with the addresses 40, and 41.   They were originally part of a larger apartment complex, but was converted to a small home.   The paint was peeling, and the general area ridden with dust and dead leaves.  When I got inside, my Mom offered me some coffee.  I walked to the kitchen with her, and thought the kitchen was extremely quaint and charming upon seeing it.

Before I could get a savory sip of coffee, I found myself out on the driveway again.  This time, no one was home, and a friend of mine, Matt, and his wife were the residents of the place.  A detective arrived on site, as I hid in someone’s car.  Matt arrived in his Jetta, and I was relieved that I could finally come out of hiding.  I realized that he’d killed in a Dexteresque fashion, and had evidence within the house.  He seemed to be old friends with the Sheriff based on their manner of conversation.  A few kids were there; one of them being  Matt’s son who was being teased by the others.  The child was about the age of five or six, and had a pale, sleepless look about him.

(Expecting continuity?  Psh, yeah, right.)

I had a dream within a dream.  It consisted of a group of people from school.  I noticed that we all had tattoos; mine, however, was done with a ballpoint pen.  It was of a stylized five-pointed star on my right hand.   We held hands and circled around another group of people.

(Scene change)

I was on a schoold bus with various individuals from my past.  My ex and his girlfriend were a few seats away.  His girlfriend decided to get snarky with me, so I grabbed her hair, and pulled her neck back.  She stumbled onto her back, yet continued to verbally irritate me.  After what felt like a long ten minutes of tightening my grip, choking her, and other offenses, I let her go.  She started crying to herself, and my ex turned to look at me.  His look questioned why I had to go to such lengths to scare her, and I returned the inquiry with a grin as he was slightly amused, and knew I didn’t intend to really hurt her.


I sat in the back seat of an SUV, which was parked directly in a designated crosswalk area.  I sat next to a convicted killer who knew I was Dexter’s associate.  He glared at me with suspicion, and a desire to kill.  The foggy ghost of his wife appeared in front of him, and dragged him outside to end his life.  His body parts were scattered on the road, with a mummified texture sans bandages .  I told my Mom to close the passenger door in case he decided to drag us outside with him.

(Snip, snip)

A woman and I were in a secluded garage burying a trash bag of body parts in a large plantar.  We successfully buried the bags, and while we tried to bag up our supplies, the sheriff pulled up onto the driveway.  He asked if he could look around, and I willingly consent hoping that he does a quick and carefree run through.  While he poked around, I sat in my car hoping he wouldn’t question the  industrial strength trash bags, and Clorox bleach on the counter.

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