The Lion

The lion was a beast of gigantic proportions, yellow mane blowing in the cool breeze. His tail shaking its tufted end looked like a knobkerrie. A snarl revealed two rows of razor-sharp teeth as his fetid breath wafted through my mosquito net. I shouted or screamed, not sure which. Grabbing my pillow and making a threatening gesture, I yelled all the louder. He opened his great jaws, drooling streams of saliva. ‘Oh god no, he’s going to spring and crush me!’ Dragging my torn mosquito net, I dived into what looked like a ravine. Hitting bottom, I stared upwards and then awoke wrapped in the remains of the net.

Gasping for breath, bathed in sweat, and my heart thumping, I realized I had dived out of my bed onto the floor. Relieved that I was still alive and in my bedroom, I untangled myself from the net and went to the bathroom.

Later, still shaking and trying to swallow hot milo, I searched for a dream analysis on my computer. The dream interpretation of paying a severe price for a current furtive affair I was having; stared at me in the face.

The following evening as I opened the door for my girlfriend, who was coming to supper, she screamed at me. “You are a two-timing, no, a three-timing bastard.” Suddenly I felt a blow to my eye, and as I stumbled backward, a perfectly timed kick between my thighs dropped me to my knees!

It would have been less painful had the lion been real.

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