a nightmare without end
For several nights now since the release of my book, I've experienced the same nightmare - spinning like a broken record when I close my eyes to sleep.
I find myself in old Vegas, at a time without date, but far into the black and white past of photos you see on display at casinos and other locations in the modern day. In this recurring nightmare, everything in society has returned to the old ways. Only white men have rights, slavery is eternally legal, and women are property of fathers and husbands.
I walk the strip, approaching the Dunes and hear men yelling at me that I shouldn't be out in the city without a chaperone or male guardian or whatever madness they scream. All the faces around me are male, menacing and aggressive with anger. A few gathered in a group begin to bid on me, offering prices for my body. One approaches with something resembling a potato sack and attempts to place it over my head.
"I claim her. She's my property now."
"I'll pay you $10 for her."
I attempt to back away, but a multitude of hands pin me in place and I can't move. My clothes are ripped from my body and the impromptu auction takes on a sense of urgency as men debate the quality of my flesh.
"She's a fine one, I'll pay $25."
"$50. I must have her."
A sudden commotion at the edge of the crowd stops the auction and a massive man towering over the rest forces himself into the center. Seizing me with hands the size of my head, he throws me over a shoulder and strides down Las Vegas Boulevard.
When I attempt to scream, I wake bathed in sweat with George looking down at me with intent and worry. Light fights through the blinds and I breathe with relief when I recognize my own room.
I find myself in old Vegas, at a time without date, but far into the black and white past of photos you see on display at casinos and other locations in the modern day. In this recurring nightmare, everything in society has returned to the old ways. Only white men have rights, slavery is eternally legal, and women are property of fathers and husbands.
I walk the strip, approaching the Dunes and hear men yelling at me that I shouldn't be out in the city without a chaperone or male guardian or whatever madness they scream. All the faces around me are male, menacing and aggressive with anger. A few gathered in a group begin to bid on me, offering prices for my body. One approaches with something resembling a potato sack and attempts to place it over my head.
"I claim her. She's my property now."
"I'll pay you $10 for her."
I attempt to back away, but a multitude of hands pin me in place and I can't move. My clothes are ripped from my body and the impromptu auction takes on a sense of urgency as men debate the quality of my flesh.
"She's a fine one, I'll pay $25."
"$50. I must have her."
A sudden commotion at the edge of the crowd stops the auction and a massive man towering over the rest forces himself into the center. Seizing me with hands the size of my head, he throws me over a shoulder and strides down Las Vegas Boulevard.
When I attempt to scream, I wake bathed in sweat with George looking down at me with intent and worry. Light fights through the blinds and I breathe with relief when I recognize my own room.