My name is Bud. I’m currently locked in an airplane bathroom. I was flying to Cambodia to meet my next wife. I’ve been divorced three times before, all to young Asian women. I know what you’re thinking: I’m a creep. And you’re right. But I don’t care. I like young Asian women, and they like me. Well, they at least like living in America. Doing my dishes and polishing my knob is a small price to pay to live in the Home of the Brave, am I right? Though I’m not so sure about that anymore with what you Millennials and Gen Zees are doing to the place.
Shit, gotta stay focused. I don’t know how much time I have. About half way over the Pacific everything was fine. The lights were dimmed. The engine was humming its song. Everyone was either snoozing, reading, watching movies, or staring at their phones.
I was sipping on my fifth (in-flight) beer when all the screens turned to static and a deep voice said, “SLEEP.”
Everyone’s head dropped in unison. Mine included. I couldn’t move. All I could do was crack my eyes open. Something about that voice compelled me to sleep, but I think with all my drinking I resisted.
You see, “Bud” isn’t my real name. It’s my nickname because of how much I love drinking Budweiser. Now I know what you might be thinking. Bud, how could a red-blooded American like you still be drinking Budweiser when they put that tasty trans kid on their cans? And to that I say, eat my shit. As a matter of fact, that Dylan Mulberry ain’t half bad. I’m not saying that’s my cup of tea. I’ve come across my fair share of Thai femboys to know. But with enough beers in me, maybe me and her… them? I don’t know what the fuck you idiots call yourselves, nor do I care. Cancel me. I’m just saying maybe me and Dylan could enjoy each other. That’s all. But what I’m really saying is, I like to drink, and I think seven pre-flight beers plus the others I drank on the plane might’ve had something to do with why I wasn’t zonked out like the others.
Now this is where it gets weird.
From the corner of my eye I see two beings enter each aisle. I say “beings” because they had cubes with opaque fabric covering their heads that draped down to billowing robes of crimson and black. They shuffled down the aisles chanting a throaty overtone in some freak language. As one passed, I saw they were holding one of those incense-burning thuribles, like at a catholic mass. A green steam seeped from it.
I heard their chanting fade away as they made their way to the back of the plane. I told myself maybe I should stop drinking, but then I thought better of that. But this had to…has to be a dream. Then, as if boarding a plane that wasn’t miles above the Earth: these, I dunno, snakemen appear. I’m trying my best to describe it. They had arms, but instead of legs there was a thick tail.
I counted eleven but maybe there were more. I’m fighting to keep my eyes open just a slit, see. One sat down in an empty seat near the front and I felt a tightness in my bladder. I need to explain something to you quick. I’m pretty rich. Now there’s the disgustingly rich; they were in the section in front of me. Those glorious bastards essentially have their own miniature rooms when flying. Then there’s regular first class. Plush seats. Complimentary champagne. Free from sharing the air with the rest of the poors. That’s me.
I made my fortune by inventing a gopher killing device. I can proudly say that I’m responsible for the deaths of more gophers than any other single human on this planet. It made me pretty wealthy. Whenever possible, I buy the seat next to mine so I don’t have to suffer any fools. Paying for the extra seat has always been worth it, until today.
As the other snake creatures slithered to the coach section where the rest of you likely would be, one stopped next me, lingering. Then in a swift motion, it crawled over me and sat in my empty seat. I could feel its cold and heavy tail brush against my lap. It was oddly gentle.
I sat there, pretending to be asleep, praying that this monster wouldn’t eat me. Its hot breath tickled my ear. I knew it was staring at me. And then, it spoke.
“I know you’re awake,” it said in hushed, clean English.
All I could do was exhale a hot breathy burp. I could taste the bile in the back of my throat. I felt a hand grasp my right thigh. The thing had strong and delicate fingers with sharp nails. It gripped firmly, but not painfully.
“My name is Riesling,” it said in a warm whisper. “You need to listen to me carefully if you want to survive.”
I listened.
“We’re about to switch into my plane of existence. It’s going to be… unpleasant for you. That’s why we make sure you’re asleep when crossing over.”
Riesling’s grip on my thigh tightened.
“If you react at all, it will be bad. For you. Understand?”
I managed to make the slightest of gurgling sounds.
“Bud, that was a reaction. What did I just say?”
I kept quiet.
“That’s a good soulpet.” Riesling said. Its claw moved up my leg a bit, closer to my junk.
Then the turbulence began. Regular at first, then violent. It felt like the wings were going to rip off. And just as it seemed to end, a whirring sound engulfed me, like I was being tossed into a vacuum. My ears rang and a pain like I’ve never felt before possessed me. It was like an unscratchable itch in my bones. Like needle-worms were trying to escape my skin.
I did my best. I truly did. Next thing I knew my seven and five King of Beers were spilling out of my mouth onto my feet. I was a fire hydrant. I couldn’t breathe, so much was ejaculating from my gullet.
I convulsed to my feet, gasping for air, screaming like my apnea had nearly finished me off for good. With my eyes now fully open, I glanced out the window. My God. It was like a red hurricane swirling into a fractal abyss. Lesser men would lose their minds peering into that horrorshow.
I looked at the frothy sick covering my feet. I may or may not have wet myself. I looked at Riesling. I can’t really read the body language of dino-people, but I think it looked mildly bemused. (I’m sticking with “it” because even now, in the midst of all this lunacy, I don’t want to get in trouble with you prissy tiktokers for misgendering that thing.) I looked down the aisle. Those cube-headed men were rushing toward me, shouting in guttural spurts.
I looked back at Riesling who gave the slightest of shrugs.
I bolted to the front of the plane. Vomit splattered out of the holes of my Crocs onto the sleeping passengers as I stumbled forward. I leapt into the bathroom and locked myself in, leaning my back against the folding door.
And that’s where I am now. Writing this insane missive on Reddit because you jerks might be the only ones who’ll believe me. If I survive, I’ll post more if I can.
I don’t know if after I press send it will make it across the ether, but if it does, then it’s proof that this isn’t a terrible nightmare.
Or, I guess if this is a dream, then you are a part of it.