The American

Fever

Dream

by Chris Dämn

It is a rainy morning in early November. Craig wakes up in his usual state of being. Hungover, no memory of yesternight, unaware of his whereabouts, and drenched in his own piss. He opens his eyes and realizes he's at least safe at home. He scrummages around with his hands looking for his glasses and begins to salivate. Knowing he will soon spew, he jumps off his couch to run to the bathroom and steps on his glasses.

“Ah, fuck!” he exclaims and falls back onto his couch. The glasses have impaled his foot. He leans forward to see how badly he is cut, and beings to vomit on his foot and broken glasses. As he is vomiting uncontrollably, his wife walks in the room. “Where the fuck were you last night, you piece of shit? Do you even care that Junior needs his formula? You know I can't breastfeed while doing chemotherapy! What the ever loving fuck is wrong with you, Craig?”

Craig pulls a small piece of glass from his foot. “Sandra, can you please stop screaming? I'm hungover and you're going to wake the kids up.”

Sandra shouts even louder, “You're always fucking hungover, Craig!” Junior starts crying from his bedroom. “Great, and now you woke Junior!”

Sandra storms off to get Junior while Craig vomits once more on the floor. “Fuckin' bitch.”

“Mom bitch?” a little voice asks, and repeats, “mom bitch!”

“No-no-no-no, sweetie, we don't say that!” Craig says to his toddler, Jenna, standing in the doorway.

Jenna shouts louder, “Mom bitch!”

Sandra kicks open the living room door while holding Junior. “What the fuck did you just teach Jenna?”

“Mom bitch!” Jenna laughs.

“I'm sorry. I didn't see her there.”

“Mom bitch! Mom bitch!” Jenna chants as Junior starts to clap along.

Sandra starts to cry. “I want a divorce. I should have never married you.” and walks off into the kitchen.

“Baby, no, please.” Craig grabs Jenna and chases after Sandra.

“Don't 'baby' me, you asshole!”

“Ass hole!” Jenna exclaims while being put in a booster seat at the table.

“That's right, Jenna, Daddy is a fucking asshole!” Sandra says while putting Junior in his highchair.

“Don't tell her I'm an asshole! At least what I said in front of her was an accident!”

“Ass hole! Ass hole!” Jenna chants.

All of the yelling gets the Saint Bernard, Stormy, barking. She tugs on her chain outside of the trailer.

“You got the dog started now!” Sandra shouts.

“Ass hole bitch! Ass hole bitch!” Jenna continues chanting.

“Great now the neighbors are going to call the cops about Stormy again, you fucking asshole!”

“I wish we never would have gotten her.” Craig says.

Stormy's chain then breaks and she runs through the screen door. The door shatters into pieces and a wooden stake goes flying through the kitchen and impales Sandra in the chest.

Stormy knocks over Junior's highchair to charge at Craig while growling and barking.

Craig tries to run for safety, but trips and falls on the stove which has a boiling pot of water. The water flies through the room, scolding him and Jenna. The pot hits Stormy in the head and whimpers and runs back out the door.

Jenna screams in pain from the boiling water as Sandra doubles over unable to breathe. Craig's heart races as he looks over at Junior on the floor bleeding from his head.

“This can't be happening,” Craig whispers to himself and starts to cry. “This can't be happening.” He drops to his knees and crawls over to Junior. “This can't be happening.” Full of tears, he hugs Junior's lifeless body and looks around the room. “This can't be happening,” he continues to whisper. Sandra lays on the floor gasping for air, unable to help anyone, while blood starts coming out of her mouth. Jenna still screams from her booster seat. “This can't be happening.”

Craig's body goes into shock and everything seems to slow down and become quieter. Eventually becoming complete silence. The silence changes into a low hum that gets louder and louder until he faints.

Two hours pass and a loud knock on the front door jolts Craig awake. His head pounds from a headache. He's still holding Junior's lifeless body. Jenna is silent and motionless, covered in boils, still strapped in her booster seat. Sandra lays lifeless in a pool of her own blood.

“Police, open up!” Craig hears from outside. He starts to silently weep again. He curls up in the fetal position and starts to shake. “One more chance, open the door now or we're coming in!”

Craig tries to stand, but is too weak. He tries to shout out for help, but can't find his voice. He hears pounding and stomps as the police enter his trailer.

“What the fuck?” one of the cops says as he enters the kitchen. “In here! Looks like he killed his whole family!” he shouts to the rest.

Craig tries to say no, but still has no voice. He puts his hands up, knowing he's about to get arrested, and hears a loud bang.

Craig springs up in his bed, gasping for air. His cat, Penelope knocked over his desk fan again. “Goddammit, Penny, you scared the shit out of me!”

“mew.”

“I know you didn't mean to hunny, it's ok. Thank you from waking me from that nightmare, actually.”

Craig slowly tries to get out of bed, but is in a lot of pain. 'Guess I woke up too fast?', he thinks to himself. He manages to get on his feet and stumble to the light switch. The light comes on, and he realizes he has burns on his chest.

“What the-”, before he could get the next word out he heard a dish in the kitchen shatter on the floor, “-fuck?” He turns around and sees his Saint Bernard, Stormy, growling at him. “Oh fuck!” he shouts and begins to run out the door. Stormy chases after him through the poorly lit trailer.

Craig runs into the kitchen in hopes to get out the back door. As he runs in, he slips on Junior's blood. He falls face first into Jenna, still strapped into her booster seat. He goes to roll over, and his head lands on the piece of wood that is still sticking out of Sandra.

The American Dream once was to be free to be yourself and live life as you wish. To most, that seemed to be having a well paying occupation, a picture perfect family, and white picket fenced in house. Dreams can, and do, come true. Cut, copy, and paste other people's lifestyle and achieve the goals you are told you have! The thing is, sometimes those are fever dreams. Fever dreams come true in America way more than the good ones do.