vexed to a nightmare

8/9/2019 Vexed to a Nightmare

1/8

VEXED TO A NIGHTMARE

by Phantomimic

All rights reserved RAGG


2/8

The air inside the ramshackle house was unbearably hot and humid

creating an atmosphere so thick that it could have been sliced with a knife.

The only light was that of a naked light bulb shining through the haze of

cigarette smoke in a space that in its heyday could have been called a living

room. But today its four walls of faded wall paper and crumbling chunks of

plaster betrayed years of neglect. A man was lounging in an old sofa that

occupied one corner of the room. He was wearing shorts and a discolored T-

shirt that proclaimed "Sic Semper Tyrannis". A swarm of crushed beer cans

and cigarette butts littered the space in front of him. He finished his last

cigarette, snuffed it out, and threw it, hitting a television monitor that lay on

its side with its screen shattered into a thousand pieces scattered on the floor.

The only sound in the room was the one of the radio. The voice of a

notorious talking head boomed away warning the listeners about how their

rights were being taken away from them, how THEY were encroaching on

our liberties, our independence, and our way of life taxing us and spreading

socialism.

The man listened intensely, alternating between enthusiastic

expressions of agreement and curses. He screamed out loud, "The God-

damned fools that voted for him don't know shit about what they are doing.

They are being used and they don't know it. And the others are no better, no

sir, people voted for them and they don't have the balls to stand up to him

and bring him down. Idiots and wimps, fuck them, fuck all of them!"

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world


3/8

The man lit another cigarette, shook his head and thought about the

last few days. He had been proud of his group and he had had confidence in

their leader. He had always thought of his group and many others like them

as the last line of defense. But what happened when THEY had come for the

members of a fellow group? His group leader had refused to get involved.

The man scoffed. If he had known, if he had received the other's calls for

help he and his buddies could have made a difference but by the time he

found out it was too late. Most of the people in the other group had been

arrested, and the stupid media had had a field day reporting all the stuff.

Some people had called them "fanatics" and "nutters" and accused them of

plotting to "overthrow the government". The man laughed, "Well, duh!

What else are the people to do if they are betrayed?" His eyes glanced in the

direction of a small coffee table on top of which lay two worn books with

titles that read The Turner Diaries and Unintended Consequences. He

thought to himself, "Indeed, what else."

The phone rang. The man turned off the radio and answered. A voice

on the other end said, "Hi John, ready for our game?" The man replied,

"Yeah, got the cards and everything ready, just come on over." and hung the

phone. He smirked, this was their code, in these damn times of cowards and

traitors you never know who may be listening. The man sat again on the sofa

to finish his cigarette while with his other hand he patted his rifle lying next

to him.

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.


4/8

After a minute he got up, closed the living room shades, and walked

over to a large cedar chest. Above it a faded dusty plaque proclaimed:

"The tree of liberty must be watered from time to time with the blood of

patriots and tyrants."

He opened the chest and removed his fatigues. For a while he felt

them in his hands as if absorbing their energy. So many times he had trained

preparing himself for the moment he would be called to fulfill his duty and

now, the day had come. He donned them, picked up his rifle, and waited by

the living room window. Outside it was a clear summer night with a full

moon. After a short while three vehicles wound their way down the gravel

road and stopped next to his house. The man headed for the hallway that led

to the main door. He paused before opening the door to rummage through

the pockets of his vest and make sure he had all he needed. It was then he

was startled by movement in the shadows to his right. He instinctively

turned and pointed his gun in the direction of the movement. There in the

twilight of the corridor he could discern a hazy shape opposite from him that

now lay very still. With comprehension the man reached for the switch and

turned on the light. As the light flooded the hallway he found himself

starring at his reflection in the hallway mirror.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight:


5/8

He did not laugh, he did not even smile. His eyes became fixed on his

image. When was the last time he had observed his reflection in a mirror?

Yes, observed, not merely "looked at" but observed. He approached the

mirror and focused his attention on the reflection of his face. It was like

looking at a stranger. When was the last time he had shaved? He had grey

hairs, and creases and spots in his skin he did not remember seeing before,

as though he had aged too much too soon. But most of all he centered his

attention on the eyes. Bloodshot and with their whites stained yellow he

found they still had the power to take him back, back to happier times when

he had a family and a steady job. As he looked into those eyes the memories

started to play as though he were sitting in a theater watching a movie.

Emotions he had not felt in a long time filled his being and he shed a tear.

For a brief moment he connected to his former self, for a brief moment he

reconsidered.

Suddenly the man looked away from his reflection his facial features

hardened in a grimace. The brief connection to the soul had been severed by

something stronger than himself, something that now reasserted itself.

"NO!" he screamed, "It's THEM! It's THEY who did it. THEY have taken

away what I had and now THEY are coming for the rest, NO!" He took a

step back and shot the rifle. The center of the mirror exploded in shards and

the upper and lower pieces collapsed to the ground.

somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.


6/8

As he stood there gasping for air, the man regained control.

Something wrapped its coils tightly around his consciousness, blunting the

few centers in his brain still willing to sound alarms. His reason was rocked

back into slumber and he was again filled with a fierce sense of

determination. He opened the door and was met by men in fatigues pointing

their guns at him. One of the men asked, "John, what the hell happened?"

"It's nothing" he said, "Just an accident, let's go to the trucks, we have

work to do." All of them entered the vehicles and were soon on their way.

The man asked another, "What do we know?"

The other answered, "Our contact says THEY are staying at the hotel

and will be gathering in the meeting room soon, he also says there is almost

no security. He will meet us in the dirt road in the woods and lead us to

them."

The man smiled, said "Good" and thought to himself, "Today we will

strike back; today we will set the example for others who will come after

us." As the three vehicles approached the outskirts of the city the silvery orb

of the moon was hidden by a foreboding mass of dark clouds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,


7/8

A homeless man who had fallen asleep by the hotel garbage bins

suddenly woke up for no apparent reason. In the dim light of a couple of

lamp posts he saw a dozen gun-wielding figures in military style fatigues

crossing the hotel parking lot. But as he watched them enter by the back

door something else caught his attention. He looked up and through a break

in the clouds he saw the disk of the moon stained blood red. He also noticed

the light around him was dimming. The lampposts appeared to be in

working order, still shining, but it seemed that their light was being

devoured by the darkness around them. The man then felt an unseasonable

icy-cold wind that began to blow harder and harder rocking the nearby trees;

the kind of wind that blows ahead of something massive that is rapidly

coming in your direction. All around him an ominous noise of rustling

leaves, mixed with what appeared to be hisses and growls, filled the

landscape.

Stricken with terror the homeless man started running, but not because

of the gunshots or the screams coming from the hotel. He was running

because he had sensed in the cold encroaching windy darkness that now

surrounded him a presence. Something had come. Something had come to

stay...

...and spread.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


8/8

The image of "Saturn Devouring his Children" by Francisco Goya from

Museo del Prado and the poem "The Second Coming" by William Butler

Yeats are both in the public domain.

vexed to a nightmare

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