As I awoke, I was certain I would find myself in my bed, and my bout with the police would be nothing more than a bad dream. However, this was not to be the case.
As I rubbed my eyes, I became aware of several disturbing sights. My feet were evidently sticking out far enough to be seen, in the morning sunlight, by anyone in the general area. My hands felt blood caked, because my fingers were stuck together, and I could open only one eye. It was then, to my horror, that I discovered something, very ugly and heavy, sitting on my chest. It was a dog of sorts. A rottweiler I believe.
Its owner was screaming for it to come to her. She sounded every bit as though she thought I was about to eat the poor animal. Suddenly, realizing that its prize was awake, the rottweiler began snarling hideously close to the one eye I could still see out of. Great quantities of goop issued forth from its mouth, slathering my face. Large discolored fangs snapped incessantly, with alarming speed and ferocity. The weight of the dog was beginning to become unbearable, and, as if this wasn't enough, the beast was sitting on my bladder! I was never so scared in my life, and for a moment, I even thought I might go mad!
Giving me one last growl, the rottweiler reluctantly obeyed its owner. As the beast left me, I swear, it purposely trod heavily upon my num nums, as he strode back to a rather rotund flowery dressed woman in her forties, who was boasting wall to wall titties.
HIS
THROATS
BEEN
CUT!
With the one eye that was still working, I could see that a small crowd had gathered. Each was trying to see, with morbid curiosity, whether I was really dead or not. An absurdly well groomed middle aged mustachioed man was leaning in to look me over. Commenting on my condition he said, in a crisp English accent, "As I thought, he's dead all right, looks as though his throat has been cut from ear to ear."
There was a unified gasp of horror from the small group of dog lovers. I tried to sit up, but found myself weak from loss of blood. With all of my strength, I sat straight up. My sudden movement seemed to cause a chain reaction. Being dead and all, I guess it scared the small crowd witless, because they all began running as fast as their little fat legs could carry them. Even the dogs were running away. I couldn't think of anything to say, under the circumstances, and I heard myself half screaming, "Come back! I won't eat you!" But my poignant plea didn't seem to dissuade them in the least bit.
I took a survey of myself, and discovered that my white turtle neck sweater was so bloody that it actually did look as though my throat had been cut. It took every ounce of strength, but I was finally able to stand, and began lurching forward, but soon felt myself falling.
IN
HOSPITAL
I must have passed out because when I awoke, I found that I was lying on a rather unforgiving hospital bed. Curtains were drawn completely around me, and there was a bag of something, suspended above me and to the side, which I thought was probably plasma. The bag was conveniently attached to the back of my hand through a long plastic tube. I hate it when they do that! I mean, stick this very large needle into a tiny vein on the back of my hand. I wondered what sadistic bastard had thought this was a good idea?
I must have gone back asleep, because when I awoke, I was being attended to by a very efficient, mildly pretty nurse. "How are we feeling?" She said in a scary mans voice. I even looked to make sure the Doctor wasn't there, speaking to me.
I said, "I don't know exactly, but if I had to guess, it would probably be pretty much like shit".
"That's good", she grunted, a full octave lower than my voice. "Lost a bit of blood. Nothing to worry about. Doctor stitched your ear. Should be able to leave in couple of hours." With that she turned and seemed to vaporize through one of the curtains without even disturbing it.
I thought maybe I had actually died, and this was some sort of staging area for the newly departed. I felt my face to make sure it was still there. This was in response to a particularly nasty dream. I dreamt that My poor mother, was insisting on an open casket funeral, even though the entire front of my head was missing, nothing left but a gory pit of unmentionables, due to it having been unceremoniously chewed off by a rottweiler.
"Holy Mother of Jesus! Do you want mourners barfing into your poor dead sons head?" My uncle Abernathy was shouting indignantly. "Why don't we just call it an open face casket?" Luckily, I woke up just as I was about to look at myself in the casket. I was glad I didn't look, because I had heard that it was bad luck or something.
HOME
AT
LAST!
Everyone at my apartment building was happy to see me. My room had been full of friendly faces ever since I had arrived back. The whole gang was there. Gina was hovering over me, glass in hand, Froggy was croaking for everyone to be quiet, Willard was blubbering, and Mrs. Peele was curled around my neck. You know, it was funny, but I felt these People, actually loved me. Sometimes it takes something simple, like getting your ear shot off, to make you realize just how lucky you really are.
Later, when things started to normalize, I was informed by Mr. Simons from the third floor, who was a retired lawyer, that the two cops had been "put on leave", what ever that meant, and the D.A., who was a personal friend, would consider pressing criminal charges against the doctor who started the whole mess.
"You have one hell of a case against the hospital, and probably the city as well. But", He was quick to add, "Very few cases are ever won against hospitals, and fewer still against the city."
I was glad to finally be back in the solitude of my room. Froggy had to put a "Do NOT DISTURB!!!" sign on my door because the cops had broken it, so that anybody could just push it open. The fact that my door had been unlocked at the time they broke in, somehow struck me as being funny.
I am a very peace loving guy, and abhor trouble of any kind, but trouble seemed to follow me around anyway for some odd reason.