6 / 24 / 10
Aside from universal neglect and abuse, I believe Michael was afflicted with immortality. His age, race, was indeterminate. But he was over six foot and weighed less than 70 pounds. However much your skeleton weighs, was Michael.
Michael was essentially a human corpse, matter that seemed to want to implode on itself at any moment, the taut skin - where there was skin - peeling itself over every corner and line of his grotesque face, actually so tight that he could not sufficiently open his mouth to talk. Or maybe he had lost that ability, or never had it to begin with. I saw Michael on just another day of his life, he and I wishing he would die already.
Being near him, I was horrified. Even more horrifying was what I saw happen to him. He had been flayed alive, or skinned, or just starved so badly that his skin tore in places where it was too weak to contain his bones, that when I saw him flopping on the ground, I thought he had turned inside out. Oh My God he was just writhing there, growling and shrieking in the street! His limbs were trembling, and though he was stuck in the fetal position, he trembled violently from his narrow core, tossing his fragile head against the ground, because it was all he could do. If he could think, he might have hoped to finally lose consciousness (from head trauma), but his mind was never so alive. Like an animal wounded in the road, I wish I could have just shot him in the head to end his misery. Profoundly I pitied him, and couldn’t accept that the world had let him become so afflicted.
Cops and officers rushed in, carrying blankets made of some mucus-y material, like whale blubber, a gigantic skin graft of sorts, or life-size band-aid, for the man with no skin and only hunger. They were trying to scoop him off the ground with their net of flesh, yelling at him like a beast who barely spoke their own language, “Michael! Get in the blankets!” And he just writhed and moaned guttural horror from his chest, becoming more wretched every second. At last they got him in their membrane-sac, a body-bag, sealed him up except for the head, and carried him away. The tiny drum-hole where his mouth once might have been still cried, whistled really, and his eyes were strangely full, the only organs with any moisture left at all. I recall feeling the tiniest bit of relief, knowing that at least he’d finally get some sort of medical care after centuries of withering, but it might have been better for them to just put him under by then.
*An anecdote related to me a few days prior to this dream: An old man had a heart problem, and was told that he would live for only a few more years. The diagnosis was that he would suffer for a while, then die. His doctor, in an act of grace, recommended a pacemaker. In fact, the doctor would not see the old man again until he consented to order a pacemaker. A few months after using the device, the old man developed severe dementia. He would live much longer now, since his heart was being regulated, but his aging and decrepit wife would now have to suffer as she cared for her vegetable husband until her last days. The old man lived longer, but no longer lived in his mind, as a result of the greed of modern pharmaceutical agencies. See, the doctor who recommended the pacemaker was paid tens of thousands of dollars by the manufacturing company for each unit he sold. His interest was not in the welfare of his patient, but rather his personal salary. The old man lived another ten years, retarded as a baby and, after his wife died, alone.
**In retrospect, I am ashamed to have been so nihilistic in my dream towards the ‘Michael’ figure. I did feel “the tiniest bit of relief” at seeing him finally rescued, but I reasoned that, given his unfathomable condition, his suffering had been and would continue to be too much for a person to bear. I preferred the act of killing him quickly to end his suffering. Such is the decision of many in the real world, no doubt; to pull the plug on a loved one, or not. I apologize to anyone reading this if I seemed insensitive and cruel, but this question is heavily moral and certainly real. Out of remorse, I’ll also note that, were there a ‘Michael’ among us, which there must be somewhere, I’d only want to see him alive and nourished, restored back to health if possible.
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