17: doG

That night, as he lay between canyon walls of Reader’s Digests and boxes filled with Smurfs and VHS tapes, Kris dreamt of the past. 

Kris was in one of the nursery rooms at his former church.  He sat on a stool, ringed by small children seated Indian-style on carpet squares.  “Criss-cross, apple-sauce.”  He was singing a stripped-down acoustic version of some contemporary Christian Rock hit.  A childlike mural of bright primary colors adorned all four walls:  crude little sheep grazed green crescent hills beneath a chromatic blue sky.   White-white clouds floated over a matchstick shepherd in a white-white robe.  Between them, here and there, stray angels fluttered on white-white wings.

As Kris played happily along, the little children morphed into teens.  And then his teens became teen-mural sheep hybrids, the way in dreams that a thing can be two things at once.  And then he himself became the shepherd on the wall, rendered in thick strokes of gouache.  The happy song continued to play - something about raising our hands and footprints in the sand – but the entire scene became a mural world.  Kris and his little flock found themselves grazing in something like a living Van Gogh painting.

From between the chords of the song, Kris heard the dark snarl of a wolf creep through from some unseen place in the stand of storybook pines.   Panic gripped his whole being.  He had a small staff and a guitar and a robe of linen, nothing with which to fend off such a predator.  The growls grew closer.

One of the white-white angels descended towards him.  The angel’s wings swirled like Starry Night as it neared.    He extended his arm towards Kris, offering him a beautiful, pristine sword.  But Kris was terrified to take it.

Kris could sense that the wolf was nearer now than before.  Again he heard the wet, guttural sound of the beast.  Was one of the sheep-teens gone?  Where was Becky?

The angel visibly urged Kris to take the weapon, fluttering about the shepherd and prodding the sword towards him.  But he could not take it; it was against his nature and his principles to do such a thing.  He cried tears of futility over the situation.

And then the great doG showed itself from behind one of the trees.  It was taller than Kris.  Its muzzle was drenched with blood, and it seemed to have no eyes that Kris could see.  In desperation, Kris finally snatched the long blade from the angel. 

The wolf lunged.

And Kris woke up.