Go Away, Hitler

I had another dream about Hitler last night. I hadn't noticed how many of them I'd been having till I got teased about it by my friends. I can't imagine where they're all coming from, these dreams. I'm much too young to remember World War II--I wasn't even born till decades after it was over. During my waking hours, I almost never think about Hitler, or about the Nazis, or anything of that sort. I don't like thinking about them. I keep them in a sort of mental dustbin, full of vomit and banana peels and socks with holes in the toes. I avoid that whole corner of my brain, when possible, in case any stray odours come wafting out.

Last night's dream was particularly unpleasant. Double-vomit; double-banana; double-sock. I'd just come out of the Super Valu on Davie--that was how it started. I pushed out into the heat of the day, laden down with bags of milk and eggs and vegetables. I started towards the phone box, meaning to ring for a taxi, but was almost mowed down by a speeding car.

"What the--"

I looked around, suddenly seized with that foreboding feeling you get--you know, when something isn't quite right, but you haven't worked out what it is just yet. It didn't take me too long to spot it, this time: apart from the speeding car, the street was entirely deserted. That never happens on Davie Street, even in the wee hours, so I was quite perturbed.

"Hello?" I called, putting down my bags. "Is anyone there?"

"--anyone there?" came the echo.

I stood still, then, not knowing quite what to do. Looking up, I saw thousands of birds flocking out of the downtown area. Sparrows and hawks flew side by side without quarrelling. I started running in the opposite direction, heading home. I hadn't gone but five paces when a shout came from behind me: "There's nothing there!"

I spun around, and there he was: bloody Hitler again, grinning from under that stupid little moustache of his.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, disagreeably.

"See for yourself." He pointed in the direction of Granville Street, which was in the process of being enveloped by a thundercloud--no, by a billow of black smoke. And fire! Downtown was burning! I started coughing.

"Hitler! What have you done?"

"Ha, ha!" He laughed at me.

"I'll get you," I shouted, running after him. I went as fast as I could, but the wee bastard had a good twenty yards on me, and soon increased the distance. I soon discovered I had bigger problems, as well: the fire was spreading much faster than I was running away from it. I gave up on Hitler and turned my steps towards False Creek instead. As I ran, I began to notice rats running on either side of me. The air filled with smoke and frantic squeaks. I bent low to the ground, seeking oxygen. I couldn't run very fast that way, but I was suffocating quickly.

"How far is it to the water?" I asked another would-be escapee.

"You'll never get there," said Hitler, who had doubled back to join me. I stuck out my foot to trip him, but I fell down instead.

"You burned Stella!" I shouted, struggling to see him through the smoke.

"I burned a lot of rats today!"

"I'll follow you to the water! There's more than one way to kill a rat!"

"Oh, I'm not going to the water," he laughed, and jumped into a low-swooping helicopter. I swore and snatched at his boots, but I didn't get him. He flew off above the smoke, and I scrunched along beneath it, crawling, now, to avoid choking to death. For a moment, I thought I could see False Creek between the apartment buildings on Beach Avenue. I peered through the fug, redoubling my efforts, but it was all for naught. Something huge and silvery glinted on high; then came a deafening bang, and Beach Avenue turned into a furnace. I was boxed in.

"Horrible!" I screamed, and woke up. I fell asleep again a few seconds later, and dreamed of something else (which I've forgotten).

Recent dreams with Hitler, in which I have died: 2
Recent dreams with Hitler, in which I've killed him: 0, but I almost got him last week.
Recent dreams with Hitler, in which neither of us have died: Quite a lot. I'm not sure of the precise number, because I haven't been writing them all down. Usually, if I don't get killed outright, I get tortured or prodded or otherwise interfered with instead. It's all very unpleasant. I wouldn't classify these dreams as nightmares, per se--I don't wake up in a cold sweat, or anything--but if I could switch 'em for happy sunbathing dreams, I would.

Bad dreams with Hitler in aren't a new thing for me, of course. I remember having one when I was no more than four or five, which culminated in Hitler's driving my parents' car up into the flowerbed. For some reason, I found that so horrifying I couldn't sleep properly for days. Nonetheless, I've been having extra Hitler dreams lately, and I'd like to, you know, return to my usual Hitler quota, or forego him entirely. Sandman, please oblige!

(Bizarre thought which just popped into my head: according to Godwin's Law, should everyone now refrain from commenting upon this entry, since Hitler and the Nazis have been mentioned, ending the possibility of rational discussion? Do I automatically lose any argument resulting from this entry?)