KZ Writes Good
The internet is a huge bathroom wall, and any halfwit with a keyboard and a connection has an opportunity to scrawl on it. Take me, for instance. My name is KZ. For a good time, come find me at Prosaic Shades of Gray.
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The Silence of Futile Screams
For years, I’ve been revisited by a recurring dream that always leaves me unsettled and frustrated when I wake up. I guess you could call it a nightmare. I never remember much about these dreams except for a few recurring details, some blurry impressions, and the emotions I’ve felt in broad strokes.
In each of these dreams, I find myself surrounded by a crowd of people. I hear them talking, and I can tell something is amiss. I don’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but I know that some form of grave injustice is unfolding everywhere around me. I feel the early onset of discontent, but I conceal my indignation and say nothing. The murmur of conversation continues, and I grow ever more aware that the climate and tone are growing toxic. I see the anger on people’s faces, but none of them dare to speak out. My indignation grows to anger, and I grow restless and agitated.
Finally, I can no longer contain myself, and so I call out to the crowd to compel them to listen. Every face turns to look my way. As I open my mouth to speak, the words get caught in my throat like a dry, strangled gargle. I struggle to push out the words, but my voice is nothing more than a gasp and a croak. The crowd stares at me impassively, looking on like frozen zombies without movement or emotion. Through some of those blank stares, I can just barely detect a hint of curiosity and confusion. I try in vain to scream, but I choke on the horrible silence. And still the crowd looks on.
That’s always around the time when I wake up.
The symbolism is far from subtle, so I’ll spare you a paragraph’s worth of tedious analysis. Suffice it to say, after all of these years of being stirred awake from the same dream, I’ve grown to understand that one of my greatest fears in life is failing to be understood, and failing to say what needs to be said. All I need now is a grand revelation telling me what it is inside of me that I feel such a strong urge to convey. Maybe I’ll stop having those damned nightmares once I figure that part out. Just maybe. Why can’t my subconscious and creativity get along like they do in other people’s heads?
30 Minus 2 Days of Writing (2014)
A painful exercise in forced inspiration brought to you by
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