The Nightmares Have Become More Frequent

The nightmares have become more frequent. They began two years ago, I think, when my sub-conscious started having a difficult time sifting through and making sense of the increased violence here in the city. They've only become worse as time has passed, and often there are nights during which I get no sleep at all due to the mental state in which these visions leave me. There is one in particular, it is recurring, and it is the one I had last night, from which I've learned not to attempt recovery. One's sleeping pass is voided.

It begins as a YouTube video. Grainy. Narrow field of vision. Likely filmed on a mobile. The video is of Saddam as he is about to be hanged by hooded insurgents. Everything is going along just as history would dictate until Saddam manages to wrestle free of his captors. Starting with the man nearest him, Saddam swallows each man whole, one by one. It does not seem at all difficult for him. He simply eats them like snacks. No chewing. Now it seems I'm watching this video from inside an American prison camp, and the Americans are watching too, and they all have looks of helplessness and naked terror across their faces as they run around shouting things and grabbing guns. Then Saddam is at the prison camp and it is known that he's been devouring everyone in his path during the trek across the country. Also, it is now apparent that he's come to rescue me. There are screams from just outside my cell, and then the door swings open, and standing in the entry is Saddam, smiling, like he's genuinely happy to see me. Even with him smiling, I am certain that I will be swallowed next, but instead he places his arm around my shoulders and we're in one of his bombed out palaces, because he's retaken control of the country. For some reason, Saddam really, really enjoys my company, which at first might seem like a good position to be in, except it means that he always wants me around. Nearly every waking hour is spent in his presence, during which time the fiction that is my reciprocated affection for Saddam must be maintained. It is all, "Yes, Saddam", and "That was a good one, Saddam." And always, he is listening to "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees. He says, "This is my song, Aziz. Do you understand?" "Yes, Saddam. Because you have stayed alive. That is a good one, Saddam." This is all for the rest of the dream. It is a tedious series of innocuous encounters, and always there is a steady undercurrent of potential chaos and violence should I slip up and reveal my true loathing of this man. Sometimes, I do make a mistake. Instead of agreeing with him I say something like, "I will not change the channel, and you are a vile demon, evacuated from the bowels of Hell upon an undeserving land." His perpetual smile vanishes and he immediately kills me in one of various methods at his disposal. Occasionally, his son's will be summoned to deal with me, appearing in the same pulpy, bloody form that I remember from the last photos I saw of them. They move with a determined lethargy, like movie zombies, and it is because of this association that they eat me as they would a shank of lamb.

I awaken from these dreams soaked with sweat, and exhausted. I am still exhausted now, as I have not returned to sleep, yet I must be off to see a man about some work. Money is scarce, but must be earned all the same. I would ask that today could be a lucky day, but I am aware that luck plays no part.