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Maybe it was the kombucha at dinner, or maybe it was my son Rohan’s everlasting spirit and love of play that tired me so, but by the time the philistines were discussing their “Sports Ball ‘’ on the local news, I had dozed off. Usually, my dreams are congenial affairs of myself and Rohan activating our play centers in an endless field on a summer’s day, but this was different. I dreamt that I was watching myself sleep in the chair in front of the TV, when suddenly the TV slowly began to lift itself off of the ground. It had begun to grow legs. A boil-like head began to protrude from the top of the television. I noticed it was wearing a rather bedraggled fedora. I began to have my concerns, I’d heard of this phenomenon before. Once the arms began protruding from the sides and I got a look at the red and green striped sweater, I knew. Freddy Kruger had come to kill me. Half television, half-demented spirit, he stomped towards me.
Extending his razor-sharp fingers he exclaimed, “Isn’t the news a scream!”
I’d heard of him before. Everyone in Springwood has. We had our reservations about moving here, but the price was right and outweighed the very slight chance of being murdered in our dreams. Wyntyr, my partner, had just birthed Rohan, and we needed to upgrade our living situation after the birthing pool leaked and ruined the floors of our downtown Austin loft.
