Of slaps and punches.

It's been a while since I last had a lucid dream. The last time that I did, I pushed off the ground hard enough to make the ground beneath my feet yield. One leap was all I needed for flight. I flew and soared higher than a free bird.  The wind felt good on my face. I could feel every square inch of my body. It was euphoric. The best part is that the whole time, I knew that I was dreaming. And yet, I could feel the pain each time I tried to pinch myself in the dream. When I touched down, I could feel the stares from every soul around. But as always, I knew for a fact that it didn't matter. 

There was another time when a snake bit me, and I felt everyone around suddenly disappeared, leaving me to fend myself against the snake. This is when moments, ago, I was about to enter an ornate entrance to some sort of a palace. The next moment, I find myself in front of a dilapidated structure, abandoned for what looked like centuries. The snake stood, its hood wide open, looking me right in the eye. 

Come yesterday night, it was altogether different. There was only one thing I felt. Rage. Rage to rip apart the person I'd lifted straight off the floor by his lapels. I swear by the fact that if that were reality, i wouldn't be one bit doubtful of what I'd done. I learned something yesterday. When it comes to someone you love, you want to slap them, if they manage to work up your anger to the point of breaking. But when it comes to people you despise, the ones you truly abhor for unmentionable reasons, you pray to nature that it save these people from the wrath of your anger.
Every once in a while, there comes a bloke, a very effeminate one at that, squeaky voice and all. The quintessential model for an eyesore. Somewhere, genetics plays foul with them, and shoves their testicles straight up their anus. Often times, you feel sad for their condition, but to be frank, the condition is well deserved. Or these chaps at least do everything to make themselves deserving of their condition. And when you "lose it", that last ounce of patience, to deal with these unfortunate creatures, you don't want to slap them, Oh NO, sir! You want to clench your fist, and punch them, right in their bloody nose(or at least soon-to-be-bloody nose)! 

The sort of pleasure you get, that release in the pressure cooker inside...aaahhhhh! Incomparable! In comparison with what, I know not. But you feel so relaxed. Your blood vessels dilate, despite being on the brink of bursting, just moments ago. The best part being that you feel all of this while you're dreaming. The only better feeling would be if the person you were punching was dreaming the same thing as you were, just from his own perspective, that of the person being punched. How cool it would be if the next day, he came in front of you with bandage all over his demolished nose!

But for some reason, I wasn't happy to punch this fellow, even in my dreams. Yes, I hated this fellow in the dream, and I do so, even more so in reality. But something tells me that punching him isn't going to accomplish anything, apart from waking me up at 1 in the morning, all enraged. Somehow, I felt vulnerable for having punched him. Like it was a chink in my armor that I lost control exactly at a time when I was supposed to hold onto my horses. The door to my room, in which I lay restlessly, was left ajar. It almost felt as if I'd let this chap get to me. The games the mind plays with you! Wow!

Maybe I'm over-thinking. Maybe I'm the one who's playing all the games. I might be the white pieces, and the black at the same time, playing from both ends of the chess board. There just might be another one, just like me, playing the game from both ends, maybe cards held a bit more close to the chest, each move more careful than mine, disguised behind veils.