rage

I was in the bedroom of my teenage years, in the house that my family built. I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep as it was very late at night. I could see a young man walking down the hall and into the doorway of my sister’s bedroom. He looked to be drunk or volatile. He came into my room and grabbed my arms, telling me something. I sat up in bed and relaxed my arms so that his anger was not aroused. He said he would be happy if I made him cous cous and Moroccan dishes, to remind him of his home in northern Africa.

I walked down the hall to my brother’s room. I was looking for something.

Next, I was in a large, open grassy area, at the top of a huge hill. There was a man standing at the top of the hill and I could see a woman run all the way from the bottom of the hill to the top. She was guilty of a crime that now eludes me and she had an obvious attraction to the man. The police had planted the man so that she would confess her crime to him and she would be caught. He asked her to meet him on the riverbank for a romantic afternoon. My attention went elsewhere for a moment or two, and when I looked back, I could see that the man and woman had indeed met by the river, but she was in a rage as she had discovered that he was deceiving her. His mouth, that she had kissed only seconds before, was now open in pain and missing teeth—he was spitting blood. She had hit him very hard and was now running to her car, a huge purple four wheel drive, screaming that she would run him over. She drove her car straight into massive rocks which simply splintered with the force of the solid bulbar at the front of her car. It also seemed to have the power of a bull dozer, as she rammed into trees and stones, pushing them out of the way. Also enraged, he ran to his motorcycle, a huge green bike with a very loud engine. They began weaving all over the grassy expanse at the foot of the hill, chasing each other, trying to run each other down. I was running and running, trying to dodge them both as they drove, at top speed, around and around. I had to keep changing direction. At one point, I couldn’t escape the car and it ran straight over the top of me but I flattened my body to the ground so that it passed over me without touching me. The noise of the two engines and of the tyres skidding in the dirt was deafening. I was frightened.