Last check of the clock: 12:02am
First check post-nightmare: 1:39am

Note: Charlotte did not exist in this dream, to the best of my recollection.

Asleep in my room, I stir to a ruckus outside. I look out my blinds and see police, ambos, and biological hazard cleanup in the carpark. There had been a massacre, blood and guts everywhere. For some reason, this doesn't surprise me, so I walk into my kitchen to make a coffee. Naked.

I skol my coffee and go back to bed. Closing my eyes, I feel an itch next to my right eye. I scratch it. It goes away. It happens to the left side of my neck. All of a sudden, there's this evenly distributed force pushing me down in my bed, and I know it's the souls of the slaughtered coming to rest. My heart races a bit, I know it'll pass soon enough.

The phone rings, and it's a meek little Indian policeman standing right outside my window holding a box of Dominoes pizza. He asks if I ordered it, I say no. I get up to go to the kitchen to grab my clothes, and he's standing right outside my kitchen window, leering. Only this time, he's a 50-something year old heavily obese white guy who resembles Kenny Rogers but very seedy-looking. He smashes the window and pulls himself inside, grabbing my neck for support/leverage.

He sits at my dining table and demands to know where everyone's gone. I say I'm alone. He says I'm lying. All of a sudden we're sitting on the roof of some McDonald's restaurant, and he's playing poker with Jerkface, but Jerkface looks like Luke Perry. Jerkface walks off because he lost, and I jumped off the roof, running in the opposite direction to get away from Kenny Rogers.

Finally home again, I deadbolt the doors and start freaking out because I didn't want to wake anybody up, but I needed help. I went into the kitchen, only to find Kenny Rogers there, and he'd brought a friend, who'd passed out at the table from too much drinking. I'd recognised this friend as a serial rapist working under orders from an even bigger, badder, unknown rapist who had been organising rapes, murders, and assaults around my area. Then it dawned on me that Kenny Rogers was the head rapist.

I started running around my table in panicked circles. He grabbed me by the throat and held my face down next to the table. He poured whiskey all over the table and in my hair. He was going to burn my house down. When he flicked his lighter, it started a tiny little spot fire - small enough for me to blow out. He kept trying for something bigger, but it wasn't happening. He gripped my hair and slammed my face against the corner of the table, then threw me down to punch me and kick me repeatedly, and finished off by spitting in my face. He sat down and tried to think about what to do, since he couldn't kill me, no matter how hard he tried.

He threw a fit, smashed bottles of whiskey everywhere, threw my table, threw me across the room, threw chairs, and was so busy breaking everything that I ran. I ran outside and started screaming for help. Tiffani Amber-Thiessen (?!) walked in casually, stun-gunning Kenny Rogers. Except it wasn't really her, it was Recon. Then everyone from Saved by the Bell and Beverly Hills 90210 arrived as some sort of rescue team, since the police weren't any help. Jerkface was Luke Perry, Tina was Tori Spelling, Misha was Mario, and for some reason, BroGonzo looked like Derrick Vinyard/Ed Norton pre-neo-nazi/pre-father-dying from American History X, complete with daggy, floppy hair under a baseball cap. I was happy they were there, but it felt a little too late.

They were all cleaning up my house and seeing if I was okay, but I wouldn't let them touch me. While I didn't dream this part enough to visualise, I knew that both Kenny Rogers and his mate had raped me. I was bleeding heavily and very bruised, and I wondered if I had become pregnant or was just in shock.

I woke up drenched in sweat. I checked the time on the phone, turned the light on, checked under the bed and out my window, and lit a smoke.

This is why I don't like sleeping.