pray for a star

i am sitting in the back of the church i attended as a child. there is a lull and the pastor shuffles through some papers--getting ready for the sermon-i am intensely uncomfortable and i realize it's because the chairs are all full of people--the pastor clears his throat and picks up an acoustic guitar--he plays a few open chords and gives a small introduction--the congregation claps lightly and bill murray appears alongside the pastor(both have acoustic guitars)--they tell a few bad jokes while tuning and break into some popular cover songs--making many mistakes(bill murray's guitar is distorted--i comment to a neighbor about how it is surprising that there is no feedback--given the amount of distortion--he replies with a wrinkled face)

i start to panic and i stand up to exit through the side door-i know why i was so uncomfortable--i was wearing newspaper(not clothing)--i fumble with the paper, trying not to expose myself in church. the dining hall is empty, save for the noise of a few coffee machines working overtime. i have a great urge to move, i don't know where i'm going, why, or how i'll get there--but i know i have to move and it has to be now.

in the parking lot i meet a girl that i knew a long time ago--she tells me we have to visit a sick friend. there is a cutscene, and we are in a depressing field with an overgrown lawn and some very small houses. i am not sure how we got there or what vehicle we traveled in--the girl warns me about the sickness and how it is going to make me not recognize this sick friend i know very well. we walk to a house that is barely big enough for a double bed--it is on stilts and there are lopsided stairs that we both struggle with--knocking on the top half of a dutch door--it is opened by a coughing woman--i see that the house is big enough for a double bed--that occupies the entire floor--there are a few blankets and two television sets--one set to daytime drama(in color)--and the second smaller television(with bunny ears) on snow(black and white)--the woman doesn't seem to want company--she makes a rude remark and opens the top half of another dutch door directly opposite the one we are standing by--there is a larger television that is mostly obscured by the door--it was set to a test pattern with very loud static. the girl and i look at each other while the sick woman glares at us--this is a cue for us to leave.

a new scene consisting of a very narrow street with many doors. there is a marquee above every door that says what is planned for the immediate future behind that particular door. the girl points to one that says something to the effect of "lapdance"--and motions to me. i blush and am immobilized by fear. the street is completely empty-i get the feeling that it has been a long time since a person has been in the place we are now--the girl disappears behind the door while i turn around and see a miniature car(this must've been our transportation--i get the feeling that i own this car) the street is too narrow for the car and it scrapes against the doors. i stop in front of the door that the girl went into(she appears immediately--saying that there wasn't anyone in the building) we drive for what seems like a very long time with the car scraping against the streetwalls. the noise is unbearable and suddenly we are in a meadow on the edge of a forest.

the girl is talking to me. i can hear words but cannot make out what they are or what they mean. i get the feeling that the words aren't important and are merely formal. i know exactly what she is trying to communicate without understanding her speech. i feel very calm. i speak but i can't understand the syllables or sounds that i am making--it doesn't matter--she comprehends the thought i am trying to express. i get the feeling that someone is near--someone who is destructive and murderous--i tell the girl but she already knows--i grab her arm and we run into the trees. together we alternate running and hiding--now we don't go through the formality of simulating speech--i know her thoughts--she knows mine.

i see through the eyes of the murderer--his breath is irregular--he is deformed in a way i can feel but not see. there is a kind of fog that comes from the ground--it is like a bad horror movie--a nameless demon hunting nameless people.

wake up.