#cheesetouch

I dreamt of miscellaneous horror last night. I find myself in a constant state of dystopian mania. The dream takes place the night before the games, The Hunger Games. The tributes party under a fluorescent moon. There is a building atop a rolling hill that houses the soon to be forgotten souls. I was amongst friends, famous people and frauds. No one seemed to care.

I was rooming with an unfamiliar face that didn't understand the serious circumstances we had found ourselves in. The only care being where the bed was placed and if there was bread to be toasted. My said roommate disappeared to the kitchen. I was left alone in a bright room, with dark thoughts being my only companion. So, I wandered and wondered. Down the hall I spot a co-ed bathroom and see people running around disappearing into various rooms. The day before death somehow turned into the first night of college. Why did no one care? Did they know? I tried to go back to my room, but I was lost. I was lost in the tribute holding cell dorm. I had somehow ended up on the wrong floor. I began panicking and opening every door. I felt like I was Mike and Sully trying to find boo. And then I opened a door that felt a little like home. My roommate was found inside with her toast.

I am outside now. It looks as if I am at a local brewery around dusk. There are string lights illuminating picnic tables. My competitors sit at those tables with a laugh and a beverage. I hold a wine glass of water. I am overwhelmed with the idea of killing these people tomorrow. I am strategizing and planning, while others are gossiping and gabbing. I am waved over by some friends. I sit. I cry. I express that I am scared and they look at me as if I am insane. Was no one aware that at dawn we die? A crowd forms and points up. I follow their gaze and there at the top of the tribute dorm stand five Spiderman, one being Timothee Chalamet. Now I am weighing the possibility that my water may have been dosed.

I come to and I am in the streets of a European town. The games have begun. I begin running and frantically looking around every corner, but these games are not of murder. There are no screams in the distance, no blood on the walls. What is going on. I am on a rooftop now. I see people across the way. This man with a beard approaches me, I step back. He says a few words I cannot remember, but I knew they carried weight. I suddenly knew what I had to do. I needed to hide. The concept is to not be touched. It is the game of the cheese touch. I wake up in a sweat and have a heart rate that of a post-race runner.